IKM' 
^i|P 


V 


SONGS 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 


ELLEN    BANKS. 


BOSTON,  U.  S.  A.  : 
PUBLISHED  BY  HENRY  WARK, 

459  WASHINGTON  STREET, 


COPYRIGHT,   iss?. 


SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE, 


THOUGHTS  BY  THE  SEASHORE. 

Thou  art  sure  a  teacher, 

0  Majestic  Sea ! 

Deep  thoughts  in  me  raising, 
As  I  stand  here  gazing 
On  immensity. 

Though  to  human  vision 

1  am  all  alone, 
There's  a  Presence  near  me 
Who  doth  see  and  hear  me, 

Unseen,  not  unknown. 

'Tis  His  Mighty  Spirit 

Speaking  to  my  soul 
Thrilling  words  of  wonder 
Through  the  deep,  loud  thunder 

Of  thy  ceaseless  roll. 

Tides  of  strong  affection 

Through  my  being  flow, 
Which,  in  secret  treasured, 
None  hath  ever  measured, 
None  will  ever  know. 

939868 


SONGS  IN   THE   HOUSE 

But  the  ocean  fulness 

Of  the  love  divine  — 
Oh  !  that  love  infinite 
Takes  the  soul  within  it ; 
And  that  love  is  mine  ! 

What  a  golden  prospect 

Lieth  on  before  ! 
All  that  love's  deep  yearning 
I  shall  still  be  learning 

Through  the  evermore. 

All  this  unmet  longing 
Then  forever  stilled. 

Bright  anticipations, 

Highest  aspirations, 

Gloriously  fulfilled. 

How  my  soul  imprisoned 
Beats  against  the  bars  ! 

All  for  the  attaining 

Of  the  rest  remaining, 

Home  beyond  the  stars. 

Past  yon  sky  cerulean 

How  I  long  to  soar  ! 
For  I'll  read  the  history 
Of  life's  tangled  mystery 

When  I  reach  that  shore. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 

There's  a  sea  of  Wisdom 
Like  the  sea  of  Love  ; 

But  I  cannot  view  it, 

Cannot  reach  unto  it, 
'Tis  so  far  above. 

Yet,  as  through  the  ages 

Of  eternity 

All  its  depths  I  ponder, 
In  the  glory  yonder 

More  and  more  I'll  see. 

All  life's  wondrous  lessons, 
Now  so  strangely  dim, 

Christ  will  be  revealing, 

Page  by  page  unsealing 
As  I  walk  with  Him. 

Patiently  He'll  lead  me, 

Make  me  understand 
Why  earth-hopes  were  blighted, 
Why  I  seemed  benighted 
In  the  desert  land. 

And  as  He  unfoldeth 

All  His  wondrous  ways, 
Praise-notes  will  be  sounding, 
For  His  grace  abounding 

Through  my  pilgrim  days. 


SOJVGS  IN   THE',  HOUSE 

When  earth,  sky  and  ocean 

All  have  passed  from  view, 
Blank  annihilation 
Swept  this  Old  Creation 
And  all  things  are  new, 

Then,  'mid  seas  of  glory 

Swelling  round  the  Throne, 
Glory  ever  brightening, 
All  the  soul  enlightening, 

Knowing  as  I'm  known. 
Orkney,  September,  1881. 


WHAT  THE  MOON  BEHOLDS. 

Tell  me,  O  thou  beauteous  orb  of  night, 

What  dost  thou  see  from  thy  far  home  of  light  ? 

This  earth's  to  thee  an  ever  open  book 

Whereon  thou  night  by  night  dost  calmly  look. 

Thou  surely  hast  a  long,  long  story  read 

Since  thy  first  ray  upon  its  page  was  shed. 

Thou  hast  lived  on  through  many  a  night  and  morrow 

And  witnessed  much  of  mankind's  sin  and  sorrow. 

Ah,  thou  art  silent ;  but  I  know  full  well 
What  language  would  thee  suit,  if  thou  could'st  tell 
The  long,  sad  tale  of  all  that  thou  hast  seen 
Since  man  has  on  the  earth  a  dweller  been ! 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE '.  q 

If  thou  could'st  sing,  thy  music,  sure,  would  be 
Upon  a  low  and  plaintive  minor  key  : 
Sad  notes  of  lamentation  thou  would'st  borrow  ; 
The  burden  of  thy  song  be  sorrow,  sorrow. 

From  earliest  ages  to  the  present  time, 
Thy  peaceful  light  has  cheered  each  land  and  clime  ; 
'Mid  piercing  frost,  or  balmy  summer  air, 
Thy  silvery  beams  are  welcomed  everywhere. 
Thou  lookest  on  the  wastes  of  Arctic  snow, 
And  Tropic  fields  with  richest  flowers  aglow ; 
And  still,  in  every  land,  each  night  and  morrow, 
Wherever  man  is  found,  dwells  sin  and  sorrow. 

In  the  deep  darkness  of  the  midnight  time, 
Thou  seest  some  go  forth  to  haunts  of  crime, 
Their  vile  debaucheries  to  revel  in, 
And  earn  the  deadly  wages  due  to  sin, 
An  awful  treasury  of  wrath  to  heap ; 
For  as  men  sow,  they  shall  most  surely  reap  ; 
They  shall  awake  to  find  a  bitter  morrow ; 
Eternity  will  not  exhaust  their  sorrow. 

On  wild,  tempestuous  nights,  when  thou  dost  ride 
Amid  the  drifting  clouds,  which  often  hide 
Thy  needed  light  from  the  poor  sailor's  view, 
Thou  hast  seen  many  a  brave  and  gallant  crew 
Go  down  and  down  into  the  dark  abyss, 
While  thy  faint,  struggling  beams  came  forth  to  kiss 
Those  anguished  faces,  which  from  them  did  borrow 
A  passing  gleam  to  show  their  parting  sorrow. 


6  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

And  thou  hast  seen  the  sailor's  widow  stand 
For  long,  long  hours  upon  the  cold,  wet  sand, 
Straining  her  heavy  eyes  which  did  appear 
As  though  they  had  exhausted  their  last  tear. 
With  hope  deferred  still  smouldering  in  her  breast, 
She  gazes  round  her,  north,  south,  east  and  west ; 
Until  her  reeling  brain  at  last  doth  borrow 
A  phantom  of  the  ship  that  caused  her  sorrow. 

Thou  hast  looked  down  into  the  silent  room, 
Where  sat  the  toiling,  gifted  one  for  whom 
The  world  might  wreathe  her  laurels  by-and-by. 
His  present  meed  was  but  to  starve  and  die  ; 
His  thoughtful  brow  was  waning  deadly  pale  ; 
He  knew  that  soon  his  sinking  strength  must  fail ; 
And  they  who  found  him  dead  upon  the  morrow 
Would  write  the  record  of  his  life-long  sorrow. 

Thou  hast  beheld  the  lonely  chamber  where 
The  agonized  mother  knelt  in  prayer 
Beside  the  cradle  of  her  babe  first-born, 
Fearing  he  would  die  ere  dawn  of  morn. 
"  God  spare  my  only  darling !  "  was  her  cry, 
"  Or  if  thou  take  him,  let  me  also  die  !  " 
But  he  was  gone  ere  rose  another  morrow, 
And  she  was  left  to  bear  her  load  of  sorrow. 

Thou  hast  smiled  fair  at  eve  upon  a  bride, 
Arrayed  in  glowing  youth  and  beauty's  pride  ; 
Hast  seen  that  night  Death's  shadow  o'er  her  thrown, 
And  listened  to  her  wailing,  piteous  moan, 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 

When  told  that  she  must  leave  her  life,  her  love 
And  the  bright  future  that  her  fancy  wove  ; 
Exchange  her  gay  robes  for  a  shroud  ere  morrow, 
And  leave  her  lonely  bridegroom  with  his  sorrow. 

But  oh,  perhaps,  the  saddest  sight  of  all, 
The  darkest  fate  that  mortal  can  befall  — 
Thy  light  has  glimmered  on  the  flowing  tide, 
While  to  his  grave  went  down  the  suicide  ! 
Unbidden,  rushing  to  a  dark  unknown, 
Ah,  who  can  tell  what  he  had  undergone 
Ere  he  had  sought  this  mad  release  to  borrow, 
The  last  resource  for  overwhelming  sorrow  ? 

One  awful  night,  'twas  long,  long  years  ago, 
Thou  did'st  behold  a  scene  of  matchless  woe  ; 
When  Christ  the  spotless  One,  who  knew  no  stain, 
Was  sounding  the  extremest  depths  of  pain, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  olive  trees 
That  moaned  full  sadly  in  the  passing  breeze, 
The  Lamb  of  God,  our  substitute,  did  borrow 
From  human  guilt  His  crushing  load  of  sorrow. 

The  cup  He  was  foretasting  on  that  night, 
He  drank  next  day  on  Calvary's  woeful  height  ; 
The  bitter  dregs  of  suffering  He  did  drain, 
To  purchase  our  release  from  endless  pain. 


8  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

The  cup  of  blessing  He  for  us  did  fill, 
And  now  He  holds  it  out  to  all  who  will 
But  drink  and  live  :  for  them  shall  rise  a  morrow, 
When  they  shall  bid  farewell  to  sin  and  sorrow. 
Orkney,  January,  1881. 


WAITING. 

One  Autumn  night,  while  fair  moonlight 
Was  calmly  o'er  us  streaming  ; 

Low  rustling  leaves  soft  music  made, 
And  stars  above  were  gleaming. 

We  two  did  wait,  with  hope  elate 

Within  our  bosoms  burning, 
For  one  we  loved  was  absent  there, 

And  long  he  seemed  returning. 

We  scarce  had  eyes  for  starlit  skies 
Or  beauties  spread  around  us. 

One  living  object  for  the  time 
Like  potent  spell  had  bound  us. 

And  still  anon  as  night  drew  on 
Our  hearts  more  anxious  growing ; 

We  started  at  each  passing  sound, 
New  expectation  glowing. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 

At  last,  at  last,  when  hope  waned  fast 
(For  midnight  now  was  nearing), 

One  moment  changed  our  fear  to  joy, 
The  joy  of  his  appearing. 

We  did  not  hear  him  drawing  near, 
Though  long  we'd  been  attending ; 

To  catch  his  footfall  on  the  walk 
Our  ears  incessant  bending. 

While  then  and  there  we  knelt  in  prayer 
Praise  in  each  heart  was  swelling 

For  God's  preserving,  guiding  care, 
And  love  beyond  all  telling. 

In  the  same  hour,  with  wondrous  power 

The  lesson  I  was  learning, 
What  'tis  to  wait  for  Christ  the  Lord 

With  true  and  heartfelt  yearning. 

And  just  as  then,  some  moment  when 
Our  hearts  are  almost  failing, 

They  shall  expand  with  sudden  joy 
His  longed-for  presence  hailing. 

Lord,  even  so,  give  us  to  know 

The  eager  aspiration, 
The  girded  loins,  the  burning  lamps, 

The  high  anticipation. 


10  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

All  else  but  loss  and  worthless  dross 

Forever  to  be  deeming, 
And  Him,  the  precious  Christ  of  God 

Our  only  joy  esteeming. 

So,  when  at  last  the  trumpet's  blast 
Shall  burst  upon  our  hearing, 

We  shall,  with  unmixed  joy,  arise 

To  hail  His  bright  appearing. 
Somerville,  August,  1884. 


USES  OF  AFFLICTION. 

It  breaks  the  earthen  pitchers  filled  at  the  muddy 

stream, 
That  we  might  seek  the  fountain  where  living  waters 

gleam. 

It  lifts  the  veil  from  things  sublime  ; 
And,  in  the  light  of  yon  fair  clime, 
Perishing  things  of  earth  and  time 
All  vain  and  worthless  seem. 

Apples  of  Sodom  alluring   our   foolish,    wandering 

sight, 
It  robs  them  of  their  specious  bloom  that  flaunted 

in  the  light. 

Lust  of  the  flesh  and  lust  of  the  eye 
Temptingly  round  our  pathway  lie  ; 
All  unseeing  we  pass  them  by 
In  sorrow's  darksome  night. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  II 

Butterfly  pleasures    in    summer   we    chase   through 

sunny  glade ; 
The  fluttering  things  evanish  when  falls  the  winter 

shade. 

Gossamer  threads  whereon  we  hung, 
Sanguine  hopes  away  are  flung ; 
Illusive  dreams  to  which  we  clung 
Before  our  vision  fade. 


Soft,  silken  chains  of  human  love  that  held  in  bond- 
age sweet, 

It  looseth,  and  the  soul  goes  free  to  reach  the  Mas- 
ter's feet. 

Ah,  better  to  lie  bleeding  there 
Than  earthly  pomp  and  triumph  share. 
His  healing  touch,  His  tender  care, 
Our  fondest  wishes  meet. 


And  when   we    reach   our   fatherland,  beyond    the 

ocean  foam, 
We'll  thank  Him  for  restraining  grace,  that  would 

not  let  us  roam  ; 

We'll  praise  Him  for  the  chastening  rod 
As  well  as  for  the  cleansing  blood  ; 
For  raging  storm  and  roaring  flood 
That  bore  us  to  our  home. 


12  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

THE  BRIDEGROOM  COMETH. 

All  alone  while  I  sat  thinking,  draughts  of  grief  my 

soul  was  drinking ; 
Melancholy  thoughts  stole  o'er  me,  like  the  visions 

of  a  dream ; 
Sombre  pictures  passed  before  me,  casting  dismal 

shadows  o'er  me  ; 
And  the  more  I  meditated,  sadder,  darker  did  they 

seem. 
Woful  was  my  waking  dream. 

Yes,  I  saw  the  church  in  ruin,  wreck  of  souls  her 

path  bestrewing, 
None  to  lift  a  warning  voice  and  none  to   lend    a 

helping  hand ; 
Careless  saints  all  steeped  in  slumber;  faithful  ones, 

how  few  their  number  ! 
While  the  signs  of  coming  judgment  gathered  fast 

throughout  the  land. 
Few  there  were  who,  brave  and  fearless,  dared  for 

God  and  truth  to  stand, 
But  a  small  and  feeble  band. 

And  those  few,  I  saw  them  weeping,  as,  their  long, 
dark  vigil  keeping, 

Strained  they  sore  their  heavy  eyes  to  see  the 
Morning-Star  appear ; 

But  the  time  was  slowly  dragging,  and  His  chariot- 
wheels  seemed  lagging ; 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  13 

And  methought,  "  They'll  sleep  for  sorrow  if  they 

stay  much  longer  here." 
But,  hark  !  what  is  that   strange,  glad    sound    that 

bursteth  on  my  ear, — 
Thrilling  sound,  so  loud  and  clear  ? 

Joy !  it  is  the  archangel's  voice.     Arise  ye  saints ! 

Rejoice  !  rejoice  ! 

Oh,  the  bliss !  in  one  bright  moment,  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye, 
We,  into  the  air  ascending,  view  that  countenance 

transcending 
Yon  bright  sun  in  all  his  splendor,  shining  in  the 

noonday  sky. 
Farewell  Grief !  we'll  weep  no  more  ;  and  farewell 

Death  !  we'll  never  die. 
We  are  with  Him  in  the  sky. 

Pass  we  through  the  pearly  portals.     Sing,  oh   sing, 

ye  blest  immortals  ! 
Take  these  golden  harps  He  gives  us,  tune  them  to 

sublimest  tone. 
Follow  Him  o'er  gold  streets  gleaming,  on  to  where 

yon  light  is  streaming  ; 
There,  amid  the  central  glory,  hail  the  God-man  on 

His  throne  ! 
He  who  on  the  hill  of  Calvary  for  our  sins  did  once 

atone, 
He  is  worthy,  He  alone ! 


14  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

See  the  many  crowns  all  shining,  grace  and  majesty 

combining, 
On  that  brow  so  marred  with  sorrow  when   He  trod 

this  desert  wide, — 
Brow  that  at  His  crucifixion  bore  the   thorny-crown 

infliction, 
Would  not  shrink  from  rude  hands  smiting,  not  from 

shame  and  spitting  hide. 
All  the  shame,  the  pain,  and  sorrow  He  did  bear  to 

win  His  bride. 
Now  He  sees  her  at  His  side. 

'Tis  indeed  a  noble  mansion,  with  its  halls  of  wide 

expansion, 
Into  which  our  worthy  Bridegroom  now  has  brought 

us  by  His  grace  ; 
But  these  walls  of  jasper  glowing,  those   pellucid 

fountains  flowing, 
Emerald,    amethyst,    sardonyx,  gem-foundations   of 

the  place ; 
All  these  would  avail  us  nothing,  if  we  did  not  see 

His  face, 
And  His  matchless  glory  trace. 

Everlastingly  to  wander  through  those  boundless 
scenes  of  grandeur 

Wanting  Him  would  but  be  exile  for  the  blood- 
bought,  loving  soul. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  15 

Still  to  feast  in  heavenly  bowers,  'mong  the  amaran- 
thine flowers, 

Would  be  joyless  in  the  absence  of   the  One    our 
hearts  extol. 

Me  He  loved !  for  me  He  died  !     Turn  we  as  nee- 
dle to  the  pole  : 
Only  Christ  attracts  the  soul. 


LINES    SUGGESTED    BY    A    BEAUTIFUL 
SEAWEED. 

Tell  me,  thou  ocean  plant, 

Who  fashioned  thee  so  fair, 
In  garden  of  the  deep 
O'er  which  the  proud  waves  sweep  ? 
Who  formed  each  tiny  leaf  with  such  minute,  inge- 
nious care  ? 

Down  in  that  dark  abyss, 

Who  was  it  sowed  the  seed, 
And  caused  thee  there  to  spring, 
A  fair  but  fragile  thing  ? 
I'd  like  to  learn  thy  history,  thou  exquisite  seaweed  ! 

Tell  me  what  power  it  was 

That  from  thy  root  thee  tore, 
And,  'mid  wild  ocean's  rage, 
Sent  thee  on  pilgrimage  ; 

Then  laid  thee  to  repose  at  last  upon  this  peaceful 
shore. 


1 6  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

Here,  lying  on  the  sand, 

Thy  beauty  is  revealed  ; 
Each  tender,  changeful  hue 
The  sunlight  brings  to  view, 

Which,  painted  in  thy  ocean  bed,  had  there  lain  all 
concealed. 


I'm  glad  the  friendly  waves 
Did  at  my  feet  thee  fling. 
No  longer  thou  shalt  roam 
Amid  the  surging  foam. 

I'll  take  thee  home  and  keep  thee  safe,  thou  precious 
little  thing. 


For,  sure,  I  know  it  now,  — 

I  know  who  fashioned  thee 
After  His  own  good  plan, 
Far  from  the  eye  of  man, 
And  sent  thee  to  this  very  spot,  a  messenger  to  me ! 


'Twas'the  same  sovereign  Lord 

Of  nature  and  of  grace 
Who  sowed  a  seed  divine 
In  this  dark  soul  of  mine, 

And  watched  its  slow  and  tender  growth  in  such  un- 
likely place. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  \  J 

He  tore  me  from  the  abyss 

Of  worldliness  and  sin, 
And  launched  me  the  tide 
Of  a  new  life  to  ride 
Until,  past  every  stormy  wave,  I  shall  the  haven  win. 

And  when  I'm  landed  safe 

Upon  the  heavenly  strand, 
In  the  pure,  cloudless  light, 
All  that  is  fair  and  bright 

In  me  shall  there  be  found  at  last,  the  work  of  His 
own  hand. 


Then  all  of  self  and  sin 

Consumed  by  fire  divine, 
By  His  own  verdict  meet, 
Passed  at  the  judgment-seat, 

Presented   faultless    in    the    light,  I'll    to  his  glory 
shine. 

Now,  O  my  Father  God, 

I  render  thanks  to  Thee 
That,  knowing  all  my  need, 
Thou  by  this  humble  weed 
Hast  breathed  into  my  listening  ear  a  message  from 

the  sea  ! 
Orkney,  June,  1881. 


1 8  SOJVGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 


HOME  LONGINGS. 

This  stranger  land 
Is  fair  and  grand, 
And  lovely  things  there  be 
That  pilgrim  ears  may  listen  to 
And  pilgrim  eyes  may  see. 

Yet,  we  march  along 
With  yearning  strong 
For  the  home  so  far  away,  — 
For  sweeter  sounds  and  grander  sights, 
And  joys  that  ne'er  decay. 

There  are  sweet  flowers 
In  earthly  bowers  ; 
But  thistles  are  also  found. 
The  rose  and  thorn  are  closely  twined, 
For  cursed  is  the  ground. 

So  we  pant  and  sigh 

For  the  land  on  high, 
Where  the  tree  of  life  is  seen  ; 
Where  amaranthine  flowers  bloom. 
And  never  curse  has  been. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 

We  look  to  the  hills 
And  the  lone  heart  fills 
With  yearning  fond  and  deep 
To  stand  upon  the  Holy  Mount, 
Where  Christ  His  flock  doth  keep. 

The  sea  rolls  on 

With  a  ceaseless  moan  ; 
As  it  foams  in  surging  might 
We  long  for  yon  calm  crystal  sea, 
Reflecting  His  own  light. 

When  many  a  star 

Shines  out  afar, 
And  the  calm  moon  doth  glide 
'Mong  clouds,  they  seem  to  beckon  us 
To  reach  their  brighter  side. 

Dear  friends  we  meet, 
And  passing  sweet 
Are  the  hours  with  them  we  spend  ; 
When  soul  meets  soul  in  rapt  embrace 
And  thoughts  and  feelings  blend. 

But  ah,  how  swift 
These  moments  drift ! 
They  pass  like  morning  dew. 
With  parting  clasp  and  sad  farewell, 
Our  loved  one  goes  from  view. 


20  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

Then  the  soul  upsprings 

On  aspiring  wings 
To  the  meeting  on  before,  — 
The  long  communion  of  the  saints 
On  the  bright,  golden  shore. 

We  see  the  Lord 

In  His  holy  word 
As  in  a  mirror  fair  ; 
And  graciously  He  draweth  nigh 
Whene'er  we  kneel  in  prayer. 

But  who  can  tell 

How  the  heart  doth  swell 

With  ardent,  strong  desire, 
To  see  His  beauty  face  to  face, 

And  join  the  white-robed  choir  ? 

Orkney,  December  25,  1882. 


HE  KNOWETH  THE  WAY  THAT  I  TAKE. 

Job  xxiii.  10. 

Yes,  sure  I  am,  Thou  knowest  all,  my  God,  — 

The  long,  dull,  aching  pain, 

Sore  pressing  heart  and  brain, 
The  footsteps  trammelled  by  an  unseen  load. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  21 

The  emptiness,  the  failure  of  my  life 

In  many  a  hope  and  aim  ; 

The  self-reproach  and  blame 
That  fill  my  lonely  hours  with  mental  strife  ; 

The  haunting  shadows  of  what  might  have  been, 
Yet  is  not,  will  not  be, 
Dark  thoughts  I  fain  would  flee, 

And  sore  temptations,  Lord,  Thine  eye  hath  seen. 

And  so  I  cast  me  at  Thy  feet  to-night, 

And,  looking  in  Thy  face, 

Would  crave  new  store  of  grace 
And  strength  and  wisdom  and  Thy  guiding  light, 

To  show  me,  Lord,  what  Thou  wouldst  have  me  do ; 

Whether  to  sit  and  wait 

In  still,  submissive  state, 
Or  rise  and  shake  myself,  and  strive  anew 

To  make  my  life  worth  living,  to  obtain 

Some  useful  sphere  wherein 

I  may  at  last  begin 
From  earnest  labor  some  results  to  gain. 

And  while  my  heart's  requests  to  Thee  I  raise, 

And  all  my  sins  confess, 

I  still  would  praise  and  bless 
Thy  name  for  mercies  that  have  crowned  my  days. 


22  SONGS  IN   THE    HOUSE 

For  food,  for  shelter,  for  kind  earthly  friends  ; 
For  the  sure  hope  of  heaven 
Which  Thou  in  love  hast  given, 

And  many  a  ray  which  oftentimes  descends 

Upon  my  wintry  way,  like  sunlight  gleam 
That  breaks  through  cloudy  skies 
Till  every  trouble  flies, 

And  for  a  space  myself  I  happier  deem 

Than  all  my  fellow-mortals  ;  yea  I  taste 
A  rapture  sweetly  grand, 
Which  makes  my  soul  expand 

With  ardent  longing  to  arise  in  haste, 

As  Mary  did  of  old,  when  word  was  brought 
That  Christ  was  drawing  near. 
I  pant  His  voice  to  hear, 

And  see  the  glory  which  His  blood  hath  bought. 

And  though  my  broken,  worthless  life  hath  been 

A  mystery  unsolved, 

It  sometimes  hath  evolved 
A  fitful  light  whereby  more  clearly  seen 

Hath  been  a  fellow-pilgrim's  troubled  way. 
I  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  this 
Deep,  heartfelt,  thrilling  bliss  ! 

And  fain  I'd  hope  that  on  the  eventful  day 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  23 

When  Thou  shall  sit  upon  Thy  judgment  seat 

And  all  Thy  saints  be  crowned, 

Even  then  there  may  be  found 
Some  little  service  which  Thy  smile  shall  meet. 

Somerville,  March  10,  1884. 


MARY'S    CHOICE. 

Luke  x.  38-42. 

'Twas  a  festive  day 

In  Bethany, 

A  wondrous  guest  was  there  ; 
And  Martha  strove  to  show  her  love 
By  hospitable  care. 

But  a  lowly  seat 

At  the  stranger's  feet 

Was  Mary's  chosen  place  ; 
There  leaving  all,  she  hung  upon 

His  words  of  truth  and  grace. 

She  could  well  afford, 
At  the  feet  of  her  Lord, 
To  be  misunderstood 
By  one  who  had  not  learned  to  know 
Her  soul's  supremest  good. 


24  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

11 1  serve  alone," 
With  grating  tone 
These  words  broke  on  the  scene  ; 
Yet  could  not  ruffle  Mary's  peace, 
For  Jesus  stepped  between. 

What  pains  He  took, 
With  mild  rebuke, 

And  searching  words,  yet  true, 
To  speak  to  Martha's  inmost  need, 

For  well  that  need  he  knew. 

"  O  troubled  heart, 

Thou  careful  art 

About  these  many  things  ; 

But  Mary's  choice,  the  better  part, 

Eternal  gladness  brings." 

My  soul,  give  heed, 

Thy  lesson  read. 
How  often,  occupied 
With  self  and  service,  I  forget 
That  best  He's  gratified 

By  sitting  still, 
With  bended  will 
And  earnest  listening  ear, 
To  learn  the  wishes  of  His  heart 
From  His  own  word  most  clear. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  25 

Then,  only  then, 

With  tongue  or  pen 
I  can  His  message  bear  ; 
Can  tell  poor  sinners  of  His  love, 
Saints  of  His  beauties  rare. 


John  xi.  1-45. 

There  came  a  day 
In  Bethany 

When  sorrow's  wing  was  spread 
Above  the  happy  household  there, 
For  Lazarus  was  dead. 

Then  Jesus  came, 

And  still  the  same, 
Was  Mary's  refuge  now ; 
She  hastened  to  His  sacred  feet, 
There  in  her  grief  to  bow. 

And  not  in  vain  ; 

For  all  her  pain 
She  found  a  solace  meet. 
The  Man  of  Sorrows  wept  with  her 
In  sympathy  most  sweet. 

Yea,  not  alone 
In  tear  and  groan 
His  sympathy  did  flow  ; 


26  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE  ' 

From  out  his  loathsome  tomb  He  bade 
Her  loved  one  forth  to  go. 

So  may  I  flee, 
My  Lord,  to  Thee 
In  sorrow's  darksome  hour, 
To  feel  Thy  tenderness,  and  learn 
Thy  resurrection-power. 


John  xii.  1-8. 

Again  a  day, 

In  Bethany, 

When  gladness  did  betide. 
Christ  and  the  resurrection-man 
Were  seated  side  by  side. 

And  Martha  still 

Her  place  did  fill, — 
To  serve  was  still  her  care ; 
For  Christ  she  loved  to  spread  her  board 
With  all  Tier  choicest  fare. 

And  she  was  near, 
And  very  dear 
Unto  His  loving  heart ; 
Yet  He  required  a  service  now 
Wherein  she  had  no  part. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  27 

Upon  His  feet 
The  ointment  sweet 
Was  poured  by  Mary's  hand  ; 
The  secret  of  that  precious  act 
None  else  could  understand. 

In  fleshly  haste, 

They  blamed  her  waste  ; 
But,  ah  !  she  heeded  not. 
Her  eye  was  on  the  Lord  alone, 
All  others  were  forgot. 

And  oh,  what  thrill 

Of  joy  would  fill 
Her  tender  heart  and  true, 
When  He  approved  her  sacred  act, 
And  told  its  meaning,  too  ! 

Now,  Lord,  I  pray, 

That  from  this  day, 
Her  choice  may  still  be  mine,  — 
To  linger  at  Thy  blessed  feet, 
And  pour  the  royal  wine 

Of  worship  true  ; 

And  though  but  few 
May  understand  my  ways, 
Thrice  blessed  shall  my  portion  be 
In  living  to  Thy  praise. 


28  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

At  judgment-seat, 
When  Thee  I  meet, 

O  Blessed  Lord,  I  would 
That  then  of  me  it  may  be  said 

"  She  hath  done  what  she  could  !  " 


WORDS   OF   CHEER. 

Saint  of  God,  say,  art  thou  weary  ? 
Grows  thy  path  each  day  more  dreary  ? 
Stretches  out  this  howling  desert, 
Rugged,  cheerless,  dry,  and  bare  ? 
Canst  thou  find  no  green  oasis, 
Where  the  noble  palm-tree  raises 
Shady  leaves  and  fruitful  branches, 
Food  and  shelter  to  prepare, 
And  the  bubbling  waters  woo  thee, 
To  lay  down  thy  load  of  care, 
Quench  thy  thirst,  and  rest  thee  there  ? 

Ah  !  I  hear  thee  sadly  wailing, 
For  thy  toil-worn  limbs  are  failing, 
And  thy  blistered  feet  are  leaving 
Blood-marks  in  the  burning  sand. 
Fiery  sun-blaze  on  thee  glaring, 
Hour  by  hour  thy  strength  is  wearing, 
Yet  thy  tear-dimmed  eye  is  lifted 
Upward  to  the  far-off  land 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE,  29 

Where,  upon  the  sea  of  crystal, 
Thou  shalt  one  day  surely  stand, 
Singing  with  the  heavenly  band. 

Yes,  thou  child  of  tribulation, 

Know  the  God  of  thy  salvation, 

Though  His  ways  seem  oft  mysterious, 

Deals  with  thee  in  perfect  love  ; 

All  thy  pain  His  heart  is  feeling, 

He  will  send  thee  strength  and  healing. 

When  their  purpose  is  accomplished, 

He  thy  burdens  will  remove. 

Eyes  divine,  steadfast,  and  tender 

Like  the  eyes  of  gentle  dove, 

Watch  thy  footsteps  from  above. 

Hast  thou  seen  the  eagle  rising, 

And  this  misty  earth  despising, 

Roam  through  boundless  fields  of  light, 

Soaring  on  triumphant  wing  ? 

Thou,  too,  from  the  earth  upspringirig, 

Shall  thy  eagle-flight  be  winging 

From  the  mists  of  care  and  sorrow 

To  the  presence  of  the  King, 

Where  celestial  choirs  rejoicing 

Make  the  jasper  city  ring 

With  the  songs  of  praise  they  sing. 

There  no  more  the  sun-blaze  beating 
Shall  thy  fevered  brow  be  heating. 


30  SOATGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

In  the  grand,  eternal  city 

Sun  and  moon  they  need  no  more  ; 

For  the  light  that  emanateth 

From  the  Lamb  each  soul  elateth,  — 

Light  that  sheds  soft,  hallowed  radiance 

On  bright  walls  and  golden  floor; 

Faces  of  the  saved  reflecting 

That  same  light  forevermore, 

Shed  from  Him  their  hearts  adorev 

With  what  lowly  adoration, 
Blent'with  holy  exultation, 
Thou  shalt  thank  Him  for  the  patience 
That  did  guide  thee  all  the  way ; 
Bore  thy  sullen,  dark  repining 
While  thy  dross  He  was  refining  ; 
Crowned  thee  with  loving  kindness, 
Even  when  he  seemed  to  slay ; 
Though  thy  evil  heart  mistrusted, 
Still  remained  thy  strength  and  stay  ; 
Helped  and  blessed  thee  every  day. 

On  and  on  through  endless  ages, 
While  His  love  thy  heart  engages, 
Thou  with  grateful  admiration 
Shall  thy  desert  steps  retrace. 
Every  fiery  trial  sent  thee, 
And  each  kind  deliverance  lent  thee, 
To  thy  rapt  view  still  disclosing 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  31 

More  and  more  His  mighty  grace, 
Thou  shalt  cast  thy  crown  before  Him 
And  his  pierced  feet  embrace, 
There  within  the  heavenly  place. 


JOHN   IN    PATMOS. 

The  manly  form  is  bending  fast, 

The  step  is  feebler  now, 
And  time  has  set  a  silvery  crown 

Upon  his  furrowed  brow  ; 

For  he  has  witnessed  many  a  scene, 
Some  joyful  and  some  sad, 

Since  from  his  fishing-net  was  called 
The  Gallilean  lad 

To  follow  Him,  the  Stranger  Man, 
Whose  presence  on  that  day 

Came  o'er  him  like  a  mighty  spell, 
And  drew  him  all  the  way. 

He  followed  Him  amid  the  crowd, 

And  to  the  desert  lone, 
And  stood  upon  the  Tabor  Mount 

While  His  bright  glory  shone. 


32  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

He  sailed  with  Him  upon  the  lake, 
And  saw  Him  still  the  wave, 

And  went  to  hallowed  Bethany 
To  weep  at  Lazarus'  grave. 

He  saw  Him  cast  the  devils  out ; 

The  fever-stricken  one 
Rise  at  His  bidding  from  her  couch, 

With  all  her  sickne*ss  gone. 

He  saw  Him  sit,  that  sultry  day, 

Upon  the  ancient  well, 
In  hunger  and  in  weariness, 

Where  He  did  sweetly  tell 

About  the  living  water  free 
To  one  whose  need  was  sore, 

Inviting  every  thirsty  soul 
To  drink  and  thirst  no  more. 

That  great  Passover  night  he  leaned 

Upon  His  bosom,  too, 
And  passed^with  Him  o'er  Kedron's  brook, 

His  agony  to  view. 

He  saw  Him,  with  His  bleeding  brow, 

Grow  faint  beneath  the  load, 
While  carrying  His  heavy  cross 

Along  the  dismal  road 


OF  MY  PIL  GRIMA  GE.  33 

That  led  up  to  Golgotha's  Hill, 

Where  he  was  doomed  to  die. 
He  saw  Him  there,  in  all  His  pain, 

And  heard  His  anguished  cry. 

He  watched  the  look  of  tenderness 

Flit  o'er  the  dying  face, 
While  speaking  to  the  widowed  one, 

Who  wept  at  that  dread  place. 

He  saw  Him  yield  His  spirit  up, 

Amid  the  awful  gloom, 
And  ran  a  race  with  Peter 

To  behold  His  empty  tomb. 

He  stood  upon  Mount  Olivet, 

And  saw  Him  pass  away 
Into  the  golden  cloud  that  caught 

Him  from  their  sight  that  day. 

At  Pentecost,  He  did  behold 

The  cloven  tongues  of  flame, 
And  felt  the  power  within  his  soul, 

And  spoke  in  the  Great  Name 

By  whose  subduing  might  at  once 
Three  thousand  souls  were  born ; 

And  he  has  wandered  long  and  far 
Since  that  eventful  morn. 


SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

And  suffered  for  that  blessed  Name 

Privations  great  and  sore, 
Now,  banished  to  this  lonely  isle, 

It  seems  that  all  is  o'er. 

That  nothing  now  remains  for  him 

But  just  to  watch  and  wait, 
Until  his  Lord  shall  come,  or  death 

Shall  open  wide  the  gate, 

And  let  him  pass  into  the  light, 

To  see  again  in  peace 
The  One  whom  he  had  loved  so  long. 

Then  shall  his  trials  cease. 

He  knoweth  not  what  wondrous  sights 

His  eyes  shall  yet  behold, 
Before  his  pilgrim  feet  shall  stand 

Upon  the  streets  of  gold. 

That  his  shall  be  the  task  to  tell 

About  yon  city  grand, — 
The  palace  of  the  universe, 

Wherein  the  saved  shall  stand. 

The  towering  pearly  gates  that  gleam, 

All  beautiful  to  view, 
Whose  very  whiteness  seems  to  say, 

"  No  foul  thing  shall  pass  through." 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  35 

The  glory  of  the  jasper  walls, 

The  rainbow  round  the  throne, 
The  new,  endearing  name  engraved 

Upon  the  pure  white  stone. 

And  of  the  healing  leaves  that  grow 

Upon  the  fadeless  tree  ; 
The  glory-flame  that  burneth  still 

Amid  the  crystal  sea 

Whereon  the  crowned  harpers  stand, 

And  lead  the  mighty  song, 
Re-echoed  by  the  millions  there, 

Like  thunders  deep  and  long. 

The  leading  of  the  happy  flock 

To  living  fountains  clear  ; 
The  gracious  tenderness  that  bends 

To  wipe  their  every  tear. 

The  casting  of  the  diadems 

From  many  a  saintly  head, 
In  honor  of  the  Worthy  One, 

Who  liveth  and  was  dead. 

The  opening  of  the  seven  seals, 

The  woes  that  then  shall  fall 
On  this  doomed  earth  and  all  therein 

Who  turn  from  mercy's  call. 


36  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Their  wild,  vain  cries  for  rocks  and  hills 
To  hide  them,  from  the  Face 

Before  whom  earth  and  heaven  shall  flee 
From  their  accustomed  place. 

The  opening  of  the  book  that  bears 

The  record  of  their  doom, 
Their  wailings  as  they  pass  into 

The  everlasting  gloom. 

The  lurid  flame  that  shall  ascend, 

From  the  infernal  lake 
Where  they,  with  Satan  and  his  crew, 

Their  endless  bed  shall  make. 

These  wondrous  things  to  see  and  write 
His  God  to  him  hath  given  ; 

The  exile-land  is  surely  found 
The  very  gate  of  heaven. 


"  His  banner  over  me  was  love." —  Songs  24. 

"In  the   name   of  our  God  we  will  set  up  our  banners."  - 
Psalm  xx.  5. 

I  hear  a  deep-toned  voice 

That  speaks  within  my  soul, 
Grander  than  ocean's  roar 

Resounding  on  the  shore, 

Or   lofty   organ   melodies   that   through   cathedrals 
roll. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  37 

Sweeter  than  aeolian  harp, 

When  touched  by  passing  breeze, 
Or  voice  of  parting  friend, 

When  love  and  sorrow  blend  ; 

Or   autumn's   lingering  farewell,   breathed  through 
the  rustling  trees. 

It  is  the  Bridegroom's  voice  ! 

None  other  could  it  be  ! 
I  hasten  at  His  call 

Into  the  banquet  hall ; 

For  there,  beneath  his  banner,  He'll  come  and  talk 
with  me. 

Speak,  Lord,  thy  servant  hears  ! 
Speak  of  the  quenchless  love, 
That  bore  Jehovah's  frown, 

That  waters  could  not  drown, 

And  my  long  years  of  cold  neglect  and  sin  could 
not  remove. 

Upon  my  waiting  brow, 

He  seals  His  holy  kiss  ; 
His  arm  doth  me  embrace. 

Oh,  wondrous,  wondrous  grace, 
That  such  unworthy  one  as  I  should  meet  such  love 
as  this  ! 

I'd  close  my  eyes  and  ears 
To  all  earth's  glare  and  noise, 


38  SONGS  IN   THE   HOUSE 

Its  pleasures  and  its  sin  ; 

Here,  with  my  Lord  shut  in, 
I'd    sit  forever  now,  and  feast  on  heavenly  joys. 

But  nay,  He  says,  "  Go  forth  ; 

Equip  thee  for  the  fight ; 
Come,  take  thou  up  thy  cross, 

Prepare  to  suffer  loss  ; 

But  still  the  banner  of  My  love  shall  be  thy  ensign 
bright." 

Yea,  Lord,  I  follow  on, 

Wherever  thou  dost  lead. 
Though  I  am  weak  and  frail, 

The  banner  shall  prevail. 

I  know  that  I  shall  surely  find  new  grace  for  all  my 
need. 


"  He  led  them  forth  by  the  right  way." —  Psalm  cvii.  7. 

When  we  soar  beyond  the  shadows, 

Leave  those  passing  scenes  behind, 
Stand  upon  the  holy  mountain, 
Drink  beside  the  crystal  fountain, 
Praising  with  unfettered  mind. 

With  our  eyes  washed  from  the  earth-scum, 
And  the  tears  that  now  bedim, 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  39 

In  that  cloudless  light,  beholding 
God's  past  dealings  all  unfolding 
Oh,  what  thanks  we'll  give  to  Him  ! 

Things  as  cold,  as  bare,  unsightly 

As  the  jaw-bone  Samson  found, 
Will  be  seen  replete  with  blessing, 
We  had  otherwise  been  missing, 

Stony  Bethel's  hallowed  ground. 

Lonely  hours  of  midnight  wrestling, 

Ere  the  stubborn  will  at  length, 
'Neath  the  mighty  pressure  shrinking, 
Made  us  halt,  yet  left  us  thinking, 

"This  is  better  than  our  strength." 

Mornings  when  the  weary  spirit 

Turned  away  with  shudder  cold 
From  the  long-protracted  trial, 
Conflict,  toil,  and  self-denial, 

Which  the  day  must  needs  unfold. 

Disappointment,  separation, 

Heart-wounds  festering  deep  and  sore  ; 
Life's  wild  .tumult,  strife,  and  clangour, 
And  the  still  more  dreaded  languor 

When  the  battle -shock  is  o'er. 

All  these  even  now  are  gilded 
With  His  presence  day  by  day, 


4O  SOATGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

But  for  which,  the  spirit  heaving, 
Would,  the  mortal  barrier  cleaving, 
To  her  loved  home  force  her  way. 

But,  that  presence  full,  unclouded, 
Will  display  them  bright  and  fair ; 

Discipline  the  soul  was  needing ; 

Just  the  right  way  He  was  leading 
To  the  joy  and  glory  there. 

Orkney,  Dec.  9,  1882. 


DEATH   DEFEATED. 

Who  is  He,  the  far-famed  Stranger 
Who  approacheth  o'er  the  plain, 
With  his  followers  attending, 
While  yon  sad  procession's  wending 
Slowly  o'er  the  streets  of  Nain  ? 

Is  it-some  victorious  general 

From  the  bloody  field  of  Mars, 
Shouting  crowds  behind  him  trooping, 
Retinue  of  captives  drooping 
Yoked  to  his  triumphal  cars  ? 

'Tis  the  Lord  of  Life  who  cometh, 

His  no  pomp,  no  proud  array ; 
He  will  meet,  at  yonder  portal, 
Stronger  foe  than  ever  mortal 
Slew  in  midst  of  battle-fray. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  41 

Earthly  warriors  proudly  boasting 
May  recount  their  thousands  slain  ; 

But,  from  death's  grim  clutch  they  never 

Could  a  single  life  deliver, 
Though  it  were  a  world  to  gain. 

Yet  the  mighty  tyrant  meeteth 

Here  a  mightier  than  he  ; 
See,  with  kindest  look  He  turneth 
To  the  stricken  one  who  mourneth 

Bids  her  wait  His  power  to  see  ! 

Ah,  that  suffering  mother,  mark  her 

Sunken  eyes  and  pallid  cheek, 
Telling  tale  of  mortal  anguish, 
When  she  saw  her  loved  one  languish, 

Plainer  far  than  words  could  speak  ! 

Thou  alone  her  grief  can  measure, 
Who  has  seen  thy  heart's  desire 

Struggling  hard  in  Jordan's  billow, 

Wet  with  burning  tears  the  pillow 
Where  thy  darling  did  expire. 

Life-blood  from  thy  own  heart  flowing 

Had  been  given  drop  by  drop, 
If  the  unreserved  surrender 
Made  by  heart  so  sad  and  tender 

Could  the  fell  destroyer  stop. 


42  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

Such  had  been  the  blasting  sorrow 

Which  had  bowed  that  widowed  head. 
One  wish  only  in  her  striving, 
Hope  all  other  hopes  surviving, 
Soon  to  be  among  the  dead. 

"  Far  away,  beyond  the  shadow 

She  qnce  more  should  meet  her  child," 
Such  the  thought  her  sad  heart  rilling, 
When  the  Master's  deep  voice  thrilling 
Met  her  ear  in-accents  mild. 

"Young  man,  I  say  to  thee  arise  !  " 
Never  such  a  high  command 

By  the  lips  of  man  was  spoken ; 

But  the  deadly  spell  was  broken  ; 
Death  unclasped  his  icy  hand. 

Oh,  the  joy  —  who  can  describe  it  — 
Of  the  mother  in  that  hour  ? 

Language  fails,  the  task  declining  ; 

So  my  feeble  pen  resigning, 
Must  confess  the  lack  of  power. 

Still,  the  Blessed  One  looks  forward 
To  a  bliss  beyond  compare, 

To  the  joyful  celebration 

Of  a  general  restoration,— 
Great,  glad  meeting  in  the  air. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  43 

Down  the  Vista  of  the  Ages 

Looketh  He  with  strong  desire. 
Sees  the  victory  completed, 
Death  eternally  defeated, 

Cast  into  the  lake  of  fire. 


"One  like  unto  the  Son  qf  Man."  —  Rev.  i.  13. 

Oh,  can  it  be  the  very  same, 

The  weary,  suffering  man, 
With  whom ,  beneath  the  olive-trees, 
While  moaned  the  chilly  midnight  breeze, 

I  watched  by  moonlight  wan  ? 

Pale,  worn,  and  sad  was  then  the  face 

Lit  up  with  glory  now. 
Those  flaming  eyes  shed  tears,  a  flood, 
Which  mingled  with  the  drops  of  blood 

Fast  falling  from  His  brow. 

That  voice,  like  many  waters  now 
Was  hoarse  that  night  and  low. 
I  heard  its  meek,  imploring  tone, 
Half  choked  with  agonizing  moan, 
While  wrestling  with  his  woe. 


44  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

He  leadeth  now,  in  majesty, 

The  whole  celestial  band  ; 
Yet  was  He  led  by  ruthless  men, 
Like  malefactor  from  his  den, 

At  Pilate's  bar  to  stand. 

His  garments  now  are  spotless  white ; 

But  on  that  bitter  morn 
He  was  by  Herod's  mocking  crew 
Arrayed  in  robes  of  purple  hue 

With  diadem  of  thorn. 

Ah,  sure,  it  was  a  symbol  meet 
(Though  man  could  do  no  worse) 

That  ere  He  went  to  Calvary's  tree, 

Our  sacrifice  for  sin  to  be, 

They  crowned  Him  with  the  curse. 

And  never,  sure,  can  I  forget 

My  anguish  deep  and  sore, 
When  I  beheld  the  visage  marred, 
The  holy  brow  so  deeply  scarred, 

As  to  the  cross  they  bore 

This  loving  One,  upon  whose  breast 

I'd  leaned  in  friendship  sweet; 
And  drove  the  iron  through  those  hands 
Which  oft  had  loosed  the  suff'rer's  bands, 
And  through  the  tender  feet 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 

That  journeyed  many  a  weary  mile 

On  works  of  mercy  bent ; 
And  when  arose  that  wondrous  prayer ' 
For  cruel  ones  who  nailed  Him  there, 

The  very  rocks  were  rent. 

The  living  water,  pure  and  sweet, 

He'd  offered  free  to  all ; 
But  when  His  dying  thirst  did  crave 
A  cooling  draught,  they  only  gave 

A  bitter  cup  of  gall. 

He  filleth  now  the  glory-land 

With  His  effulgent  light ; 
But  round  His  cross,  that  day  of  doom 
Hung  awful  canopy  of  gloom 

Like  to  the  blackest  night. 

Oh,  joy  to  think  'tis  over  now, 

The  suffering  and  the  shame  ! 
He  of  the  travail  of  His  soul 
Shall  see,  while  endless  ages  roll, 
All  glory  to  His  Name  ! 


46  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

THOUGHTS    ON   A  WINTER   MORNING. 

How  cheerless,  cold  and  dull 
Seems  the  gray  dawning  of  the  winter  morn, 
When  these  far-distant  stars,  that  shone  so  clear 
All  through  the  long,  still  watches  of  the  night, 
Are  waxing  pale  and  dim. 

My  spirit  heaves  a  sad,  regretful  sigh, 
When  I  behold  their  calm,  soft  radiance  eclipsed 
By  the  stern  light  of  day,  that  calls  me  forth 
To  face  the  hard  realities  of  Life. 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  opening  day 
I  trembling  stand,  and  shrink  to  enter  in  ; 
To  gird  anew  my  armor  for  the  strife  ; 
Meet  Satan's  fiery  darts  and  subtile  wiles, 
And  still  more  dreaded  evils  of  my  heart. 
And  all  this  weary  warfare  to  maintain, 
And  bear  the  secret  burdens  of  my  soul, 
Uncheered  by  human  aid. 

Oft  through  the  night 
I  keep  a  happy  vigil  with  the  stars ; 
In  their  high  dwelling-place,  they  seem  to  me, 
Ambassadors  sent  to  the  border-land 
Which  lies  between  the  royal  city  fair 
And  this  dark  province  of  the  King's  domain, 
To  speak  for  Him,  the  great  infinite  One, 
Who  made  them  all,  Who  calls  them  by  their  names, 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  47 

And  guides  them  through  immensity  of  space, 
As  shepherd  guides  his  flock. 

And,  oh,  to  think,  "  He  is  my  shepherd  too." 
The  One  who  guides  the  stars  is  leading  me, 
All  through  life's  winding  maze,  to  yon  high  goal, 
Yea,  I  shall  one  day  soar  beyond  them  all, 
And  see  them  roll  far,  far  beneath  my  feet. 

Thus,  through  the  silent  night,  when   none  is 

near, 

My  thoughts  are  sweetly  drawn  from  time  and  sense, 
To  meditate  on  God  and  holy  things ; 
Until,  by  faith,  I  pass  within  the  veil, 
And  bow  before  the  throne. 

But,  when  the  daylight  dawns  and  work  begins, 
My  soul  descends  to  earth  on  fluttering  wings  ; 
For  I  must  tread  once  more  the  beaten  path, 
Mix  with  the  crowd,  and  hear  those  Babel  sounds, 
Wherein  God  has  no  part. 

So  while  I  watch  the  stars, 
And  see  them  disappear  from  mortal  view, 
I  earnest  long  with  them  to  pass  away 
Into  the  brighter  light.     O  Home,  Sweet  Home, 
I  stretch  my  weary  arms  and  cry  for  thee  ! 
If  but  my  Lord  would  speak  to  me  the  word 
Which  David  spake  to  Ittai  of  old 
On  Kedron's  shore  that  memorable  day. 

ii.  Sam.  xv.  22. 


48  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

With  His  permission,  I  would  gladly  plunge 

Into  the  Jordan's  cold  and  gloomy  tide, 

For  it  would  bear  me  to  the  loving  arms 

That  were  outstretched  for  me  on  Calvary's  Cross. 

Oft,  when  I  pass  yon  churchyard  by  the  sea, 

I  wish  that  I  might  share  the  deep  repose 

Of  God's  beloved  saints  who  slumber  there. 

What  though  the  great  sea  billows  loudly  roar, 

Close  to  the  precincts  of  their  lowly  bed, 

Like  a  great  band  of  trained  mourners  sent 

To  sing  for  them  a  ceaseless  funeral  wail ; 

And  clouds  of  sea-gulls  rise  on  snowy  wings 

Holding  their  loud,  shrill  concerts  o'er  their  heads ; 

These  cannot  them  disturb.     No  lesser  sound 

Than  the  Archangel's  trump  shall  ever  break 

Their  quiet,  dreamless  rest ;  and  oh  !  methinks 

'Twould  be  so  very  sweet  to  lay  me  down 

And  sleep  with  them,  till  Jesus  bid  me  rise. 

Come,  my  ungrateful  soul,  I  thee  recall ! 
These  morbid  longings  for  an  early  grave 
Befit  thee  not,  for  thou  art  not  thy  own.' 
Thou  art  a  servant  of  the  Lord  of  Life. 
He  bids  thee  but  to  taste  the  bitter  cup, 
The  cup  of  woe  that  He  drank  to  the  dregs  ; 
To  share  His  baptism  in  measure  slight ; 
That  thou,  O  shallow  soul,  might'st  comprehend 
In  faint  degree  the  mighty,  mighty  cost 
At  which  he  ransomed  thee  ! 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 

Would 'st  thou  compare  thy  puny  griefs  with  His  ? 
Those  dire  temptations  in  the  wilderness ; 
That  awful  hour  beneath  the  olive-trees, 
When  o'er  His  brow  the  bloody  sweat  did  roll  ; 
And  then  the  deeper  anguish  of  the  cross, 
When  the  great  billows  overwhelmed  His  soul, 
And  the  damp  weeds  of  desolation  coiled 
Around  His  sacred  head. 

O  Lord,  in  lowly  penitence  I  bow, 
In  contemplation  of  the  wondrous  love 
That  made  Thee  bear  these  agonies  for  me. 
Oh,  make  me  willing,  Lord,  to  watch  and  wait ; 
To  serve  or  suffer  as  Thou  dost  command, 
Until  thou  come  again  to  call  me  home, 
With  all  thy  saints  Thy  beauty  to  behold, 
And  in  Thy  presence  evermore  to  be  ! 


"  I  was  glad  when  they  said  unto  me,  Let  us  go  into  the  house 
of  the  Lord." 

The  reply  given  by  one  of  the  German  martyrs,  when  told  that 
he  was  about  to  be  burnt  at  the  stake. 

Into  the  house  of  the  Lord  they  went 

Through  gate  of  blood  and  flame. 
Through  the  smoke  to  the  golden  clime, 

Those  martyrs  of  the  olden  time, 
Who  gladly  yielded  up  their  lives  for  love  of  Jesus' 
Name. 


CjO  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Passed  they  from  the  multitudes 

Of  raging,  angry  foes 
Into  the  deep,  eternal  calm, 

To  join  the  grand,  old  swelling  psalm, 
That  fills  each  soul  in  yon  bright  land  with  rapture 
of  repose. 

Theirs  was  the  baptism  of  pain  ; 

But,  when  they'd  borne  the  worst, 
From  the  poor,  tortured,  outraged  clay 
Soared  their  triumphant  souls  away, 
And  visions  of  celestial  joy  at  once  upon  them  burst. 

Soon,  into  the  House  of  the  Lord 

Sisters  and  brothers  we  go  ; 
Oh,  let  our  pilgrim  robes  be  clean, 

And  each  one's  shining  lamp  be  seen, 
Filled  with  the   Holy  Spirit's  oil,   reflecting   purest 
glow  ! 

Not  to  the  martyrdom  of  fire 

God  calls  His  children  now. 
But,  ah,  the  martyrdom  of  sneers 

Too  oft  excites  our  coward  fears  ! 
We  shrink  from  His  reproach,  who  wore  the  thorn- 
crown  on  His  brow. 

Just  think,  "  the  reigning  time  "  will  come, 
'Tis  but  a  little  while. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 


Then  let  us  live%  as  strangers  here 

With  naught  to  hope  and  naught  to  fear 
But  so  to  live  that  we  might  win  the  Lord's  approv- 
ing smile. 


OUR   FUTURE. 

When  life's  woes  all  are  ended, 
When  the  last  tear  is  shed, 

The  cares  that  tracked  our  footsteps 
Once  and  forever  fled, 

We'll  enter  on  a  gladness 
We  cannot  now  conceive, — 

The  joy  that  Christ  prepareth 
For  all  who  will  believe. 

When  all  our  toils  are  ended, 
The  sweat  wiped  from  the  brow, 

Vanished  those  weary  burdens, 
That  press  so  heavy  now, 

We  shall  enter  on  a  rest 

That  no  disturbance  knows  ; 

The  rest  that  still  remaineth, 
Eternity's  repose. 


52  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

When  the  last  pain  is  suffered, 
The  scorching  fever  passed, 

The  dull,  depressing  langour, 
All  gone  away  at  last, 

We'll  have  immortal  vigor, 
Health  never  more  shall  fail, 

The  limbs  will  not  grow  weary, 
The  cheeks  will  not  grow  pale. 

When  the  last  parting's  over, 
Breathed  out  the  last  farewell, 

With  all  its  bitter  anguish, 

More  deep  than  tongue  can  tell, 

'Twill  be  the  glad  re-union, 

Inside  the  holy  place, 
We'll  clasp^the  hands  of  loved  ones, 

And  see  them  face  to  face. 

When  service  all  is  ended,  - 
When  the  last,  faithful  word 

In  weakness,  fear,  and  trembling, 
Is  spoken  for  the  Lord, 

Then  at  the  Master's  bidding 
The  girdle  we'll  unloose, 

And,  girded,  He  will  serve  us : 
Such  is  the  part  He'll  choose. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  53 

When  the  dread  conflict's  over, 

The  tumult  and  the  strife  ; 
Slain  every  foe  that  crossed  us 

While  wrestling  on  through  life  ; 

Then  the  palm-branch  waits  the  hand 
That  grasps  the  sword-hilt  now. 

The  glory-crown  displacing 
The  helmet  on  the  brow. 

When  the  last  glimpse  of  Jesus 

By  Faith's  dim  eye  is  seen, 
Darkly  through  the  misty  glass 

That  ever  comes  between  ; 

In  one  blessed  moment, 

The  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
We'll  see  His  unveiled  glory 

Outbursting  in  the  sky. 

Oh,  joy,  all  joys  excelling, 

His  glory  thus  to  see, 
In  perfect,  bright  effulgence, 

And  with  Him  still  to  be  ! 


54  SONGS  IN   THE    HOUSE 


He  shall  keep  them  secretly  in  a  pavilion  from  the  strife  of 
tongues."  —  Psalm  xxxi.   20. 

Louder  and  louder  waxeth 

This  wild,  unhallowed  war  ; 
The  echo  of  the  contest 

Is  heard  from  near  and  far. 

Word-weapons  that  are  wielded, 

Are  deadlier  than  steel ; 
The  wounds  by  them  inflicted, 

Take  longer  far  to  heal. 

What  shame,  that  even  saved  ones, 

Whom  Jesus  loves  so  well, 
Sometimes  lend  their  blood-bought  lips 

The  godless  strife  to  swell ! 

See  those  who  have  united 

In  sweet  salvation  songs, 
Assailing  one  another, 

In  this  mad  strife  of  tongues. 

So  many  hands  hang  feeble, 

That  grasped  the  Spirit's  sword  ; 

And  many  tongues  are  silenced 
That  witnessed  for  the  Lord : 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  55 

And  bitter  roots  are  springing, 

And  many  are  defiled  ; 
And  the  Beloved's  garden 

Becomes  a  desert  wild. 

O  Lord,  is  there  no  refuge 

Where  we  may  safely  hide  ? 
Is  there  no  cleft  rock  near  us 

Wherein  we  may  abide  ? 

Yes,  he  shows  a  hiding-place  ; 

'Tis  safe  and  sure  and  calm  ; 
In  secret  of  His  presence 

We  find  a  healing  balm. 

Let  us  take  the  key  of  prayer, 

Unlock  the  golden  door, 
Enter  that  blest  pavilion, 

And  hear  the  strife  no  more. 

The  Lord  our  God  talks  with  us, 
As  man  talks  with  his  friend ; 

He  tells  us,  all  this  turmoil 
Is  drawing  to  an  end ; 

He  bids  us  lift  our  eyes  to 

The  everlasting  hills ; 
To  watch  for  His  appearing, 

Whose  voice  the  tempest  stills. 


56  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

Yea,  we  respond,  "  Come,  quickly, 
Thou  Blessed  Prince  of  Peace; 

We  know,  when  Thou  appearest, 
Each  jarring  note  will  cease." 

In  one  swelling  song  of  praise 
We  shall  join  forever  ; 

No  discordant  voice  shall  sound 

By  the  Crystal  River. 
Orkney,  July,  1881. 


LINES  WRITTEN  ON  RETURNING  HOME, 
AFTER  HEARING  A  BROTHER  SPEAK 
FROM  JOHN  XVII. 

Loving  Father,  I  do  thank  Thee 
For  Thy  precious  word  to-night, 

Filling  my  poor,  weary  spirit 

With  new  hope  and  joy  and  light : 

Bringing  fresh  to  my  remembrance 
That  dear  One,  who  here  below 

Made  for  me  kind  intercession 
Eighteen  hundred  years  ago. 

Ere  He  went  to  dread  Golgotha 

All  my  load  of  sin  to  bear, 
Of  my  low  state,  He  was  thinking, 

Me  remembering  in  His  prayer. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  57 

Now  the  mighty  work's  accomplished, 
He  has  changed  his  thorny  crown 

For  a  diadem  of  glory, 

And  at  God's  right  hand  sat  down. 

Still,  through  intervening  ages 

He  has  ever  thought  of  me  : 
And  His  prayer  will  not  be  ended, 

Till  his  face  in  light  I  see. 

Why,  oh,  why,  am  I  desponding; 

Shrinking  in  affliction's  hour, 
While  for  me  there  stand  enlisted 

Heavenly  wisdom,  love  and  power  ! 

Thou  hast  spoken  sweet  assurance 

Of  Thy  coming,  O  my  Lord, 
From  all  sorrow  and  temptation 

Full  deliverance  to  afford. 

While  my  pilgrim  feet  are  wandering 

O'er  the  lonely  desert-road, 
There's  a  place  for  me  preparing 

In  the  city  of  my  God. 

Maybe,  ere  another  morning 

Dawns  in  yonder  eastern  sky, 
Sleeping  sons  of  earth  awaking, 

I  shall  stand  with  Christ  on  high : 


58  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

Shining  in  His  glorious  image, 
Altogether  bright  and  fair  ; 

Crowned  and  satisfied  and  holy, 
'Mid  the  dear  ones  gathered  there. 

Done  with  all  the  bitter  partings 
Gone  through  in  this  vale  of  tears, 

Finding  in  that  holy  circle 

All  the  treasured  love  of  years. 

So  I  lay  me  on  my  pillow 

With  the  one  hope  burning  bright, 

Thanking  Thee  for  Thy  sweet  message 
From  a  brother's  lips  to-night. 


There    is    sorrow   on   the   sea;    it   cannot   be   quiet."  —  Jer. 
xlix.  23. 

Restless,  mournful,  wailing  sea, 
Tell  me  now  what  aileth  thee  ?  . 
Why  is  it  that  quiet  rest 
Visits  not  thy  troubled  breast  ? 

Dost  thou  mourn  the  young,  the  brave, 
Over  whom  thy  surging  wave 
All  the  time  doth  wildly  sweep, 
Wak'ning  not  their  dreamless  sleep  ! 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  59 

Or  doth  care  thy  bosom  fill 
For  a  something  sadder  still  ? 
Thinkest  thou  of  those  who  now 
Over  thy  vast  bosom  plough, 
All  forgetful  of  their  God, 
Hasting  on  the  downward  road  ; 
Tokens  of  his  love  and  power 
Spread  around  them  every  hour  ; 
Yet  they  will  not  understand, 
Will  not  own  His  mighty  hand. 

It  may  be,  thou  Mighty  Deep, 
Thy  thoughts  take  a  wider  sweep  ! 
Dost  thou  know  the  solemn  end, 
When  those  heavens,  that  o'er  thee  bend, 
God  's  hand  shall  together  roll 
Like  a  mighty  parchment  scroll ; 
And  those  hills  that  round  thee  smile 
Shall  become  a  burning  pile  ; 
And  from  out  thy  deep,  dark  bed, 
Thou  shalt  yield  the  millions  dead  ; 
All  to  stand  disclosed  in  light, 
At  yon  throne  of  dazzling  white  ? 

Farewell,  now,  thou  surging  main  ! 
I  must  leave  thy  shore  again, 
Leave  thee  to  thy  musings  lone 
And  thy  sad  and  ceaseless  moan  ! 


60  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

There  will  come  a  joyful  day, 
When  thou,  too,  shalt  pass  away. 
Never  more  thy  rolling  tide 
Love-knit  hearts  shall  then  divide  ; 
For  God's  word  declares  to  me 
That  there  shall  be  no  more  sea ! 


"  WHOM  HAVE  I  IN  HEAVEN  BUT  THEE  ?  " 

When  I  am  weary, 

Burdened,  weak  and  sore  distressed, 
Who  then  can  cheer  me  ? 

Who  shall  give  me  rest  ? 
Earthly  reeds  have  broken  ; 

Yea,  and  pierced  my  trusting  hand. 
Sorrows  deep,  unspoken, 
Come  like  armed  band. 
Jesus,  Blessed  Jesus, 

In  my  need  I  turn  to  thee  ; 
Jesus,  Blessed  Jesus, 
Rests  my  soul  on  Thee. 

Thy  blood  hath  gained  me 

Access  free  within  the  veil. 
Thy  love  sustained  me 

When  each  prop  did  fail. 
Dark  clouds  rise  before  me  ; 

But  Thou  art  my  Sun  and  Shield. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  6 1 

While  the  waves  sweep  o'er  me, 
On  the  Rock  I  build. 

Jesus,  Blessed  Jesus, 

Thou  did'st  give  Thyself  for  me. 
Jesus,  Blessed  Jesus, 
Thou  art  all  to  me. 

In  yonder  glory, 

With  the  holy  blood-washed  throng 
I  shall  adore  Thee 

Through  the  ages  long. 
Down  at  Thy  pierced  feet 

Then  my  blood-bought  crown  I'll  cast, 
In  Thy  sweet  presence 
Find  my  home  at  last. 

Jesus,  Blessed  Jesus, 

Thou  art  coming  soon  for  me  ; 
Jesus,  Blessed  Jesus, 
I  shall  dwell  with  Thee. 


PASSING  AWAY. 

Passing  away,  passing  away  ! 
Beautiful  Spring-time  would  not  stay. 
Came  the  Summer,  with  glowing  heat, 
And  passed  away  with  rapid  feet. 


62  SOWGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

Golden  Autumn  with  his  sheaves 
And  his  many  tinted  leaves, 
Now  is  flying  quickly  past. 
Ice-crowned  Winter  cometh  fast. 

Passing  away,  passing  away  ! 
Flowers  that  made  the  earth  seem  gay  ; 
Transient  things,  how  short  their  bloom  ! 
Pass  they  to  dark  oblivion's  tomb. 

Passing  away  —  those  stately  trees  ; 
Passing  away —  all  things  that  please  ; 
Beauty  and  laughter,  songs  and  mirth ; 
All  that  brighten  this  death-doomed  Earth. 

Passing  away,  passing  away  ! 
Hoary  hairs,  how  they  tell  decay ! 
There's  but  a  step  between  death  and  thee  ! 
Ag'd  one,  ponder  eternity  ! 

Passing  away  is  manhood's  strength, — 
Age  and  sickness  will  come  at  length. 
Death  is  stronger  by  far  than  thee, 
Strong  man,  ponder  eternity ! 

Passing  away,  sweet  childhood's  years. 
'Tis  through  a  vale  of  death  and  tears 
Dear  little  feet  must  shortly  tread ; 
Father,  may  they  be  safely  led. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  63 

Passing  away,  passing  away  ! 
Unsaved  sinner,  Time  will  not  stay. 
Over  thee  hangs  an  awful  doom, 
Fly  to  the  refuge  :  still  there's  room. 

Passing  away,  dear  Saint  of  God, 
From  the  toils  of  the  homeward  road. 
Art  thou  weary  because  of  the  way  ? 
Thine  the  joys  that  will  not  decay ; 

Thine  is  the  peace  by  Jesus  made  ; 
Thine  is  the  crown  that  will  not  fade  ; 
Thine  the  white  robe  that  will  not  stain  ; 
Thine  the  rest  that  will  still  remain ; 

Thine  the  anchor  within  the  veil, 
That  will  outride  the  highest  gale. 
Christ  will  be  through  eternal  day. 
Portion  that  will  not  pass  away. 
Somerville,  Sept.  28,  1885. 


THE   WAIL   OF   A   LOST    SOUL. 

Woe  is  me !   I  am  benighted  !  Will  this  gloom  no 

more  be  lighted 
By  one  ray  of  blessed  sunlight  that  we  cheered  in 

days  of  yore  ? 
Will    no   dawn    be    ever   waking,    not   the    faintest 

glimmer  breaking, 


64  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Th'  impenetrable  darkness  of  this  awful,  awful  shore  ? 
Moon  and  stars,  fair  lights  of  evening,  shall  I  see 
them  nevermore  ? 

Echo  answers  "  Nevermore." 


Oh,  this  racking,  burning  anguish !     If  I  could  but 
faint  or  languish 

Into  sweet  annihilation,   and   endure  this  pain  no 
more  ; 

Even  death  is  from  me  flying,  mocking  all  my  groan- 
ing, crying : 

Tauntingly  he  doth  remind  me,  how  I  fled  from  him 
before. 

Now  I  call, him,  he  evades  me,  will  he   strike  me 
nevermore  ? 

Echo  answers  "  Nevermore." 

When  I  lived  in  yonder  region,  friends  I  had,  their 
name  was  Legion, 

In  this  depth  of  utter  darkness,  I  their  faces  see  no 
more ; 

But  their  doleful  lamentations  and  blasphemous  exe- 
crations, 

Render  these  black  vaults  of  Hades  still  more  dismal 
than  before. 

I,  their  dreadful  doom  have  hastened,  must  I  hear 
them  evermore  ? 

Echo  answers  "  Evermore." 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  65 

Memory  like  an  adder  stingeth,  all  the  wasted  past 

upbringeth  ; 
If  I  could  the  viper  strangle,  half  my  misery  would 

be  o'er; 
But  around  my  heart  it  coileth,  all  my  frantic  efforts 

foileth ; 
Tis   the  worm   that   never  dieth,  gnawing   at   my 

bosom's  core. 
Is  there,  is  there  no  deliverance  ?  Will  he  quit  me 

nevermore  ? 

Echo  answers  "  Nevermore." 

To  my  mouth  my  tongue  is  cleaving,  not  one  drop 
my  thirst  relieving 

Of  the  copious,  cooling  water  I  so  freely  drank  of 
yore; 

Oh,  if  God  would  grant  permission  for   one   brief 
hour's  intermission 

Of  this  burning,  fiery  torture,  till  His  mercy  I'd  im- 
plore. 

Day  of   mercy's  gone  forever  ?     Will  it   reach  me 
nevermore  ? 

Echo  answers  "  Nevermore." 

Even  if  the  great  Eternal   bid   me  quit  this   gulf 

infernal ; 
Gave  me  leave  through  space  to  wander,  till  I  stood 

at  heaven's  door, 


66  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Still,  I  would  not  dare  to  enter,  for  the  Christ  who 

is  the  Centre, 
Round  whom  all  the  saved  ones  gather,  whom  they 

worship  and  adore, 
Is  the   one  I  spurned,  rejected  when    I  dwelt   on 

yonder  shore, 

He  would  drive  me  from  His  door. 

As  the  slain  Lamb  I  refused  Him,  when   He  spake 
in  love,  abused  Him, 

Lion  now  of  tribe  of  Judah,  I  would  flee  His  face 
before. 

Very  sight  of  Him  would  blast  me,  self-condemned 
at  once  would  cast  me 

Back  into  the  abyss  of  demons,  here  to  wallow  ever- 
more ; 

Farewell,  all  that's  good  and  holy,  I  shall  see  you 
nevermore. 

Echo  answers  "  Nevermore." 


YET  THERE  IS  ROOM. 

"  Condemned  already  and  lost."  Oh,  what  a  terrible 
doom  ! 

Bound  for  the  lake  that  burneth  and  the  everlasting 

gloom. 

Come,  sinner,  stay  thy  reckless  feet 
Ere  thou  the  final  sentence  meet ! 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  6f 

Oh,  hear  the  invitation  sweet  — 
Behold  there  yet  is  room  ! 

Yes,  there's  room  in  the   Father's  house,  His  halls 

are  free  and  wide, 
And  robes  and  shoes  are  waiting  thee,  and  royal 

rings  beside, 

And  fatted  calves  are  in  the  stall ; 
But,  oh,  the  chiefest  joy  of  all  — 
The  Father  on  thy  neck  would  fall 
And  draw  thee  to  His  side. 

Why  in  the  far-off  country  stay,  feed  with  the  filthy 

swine ; 
When  kingly   fare    is   offered   thee,    a   banquet  all 

divine. 

Oh,  why  those  tattered  garments  wear. 
When  thou  couldst  have  a  robe  so  fair, 
That  never  would  grow  old  or  tear, 
And  never  lose  its  shine  ? 

Thy   path  may   seem   a  pleasant  one :   but  it  must 

fatal  be ; 
The  blood  thou  tramplest  over  now  is  calling  against 

thee. 

When  mortal  strength  and  vigor  fail, 
Would  "st  thou  in  outer  darkness  wail, 
Amid  the  fiery  billows  sail 
To  all  eternity  ? 


68  SOWGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

THE  SIN-BEARER. 

Unto  a  place  called  Calvary, 

Outside  Jerusalem's  gate, 
Three  trembling  victims  came  one  day 

To  meet  a  dismal  fate. 

Each  bore  a  cross  to  which  he  was 

By  cruel  soldiers  nailed, 
And  deep  reproach  and  bitter  scorn 

The  middle  cross  assailed. 

Say,  who  was  He,  that  suffering  One, 
The  object  of  their  scorn, 

With  visage  marred  with  agony 
And  brow  all  cut  with  thorn  ? 

Oh,  why,  on  that  devoted  head 
Was  poured  such  weight  of  woe  ? 

Was  this  the  vilest  of  the  three 
That  He  should  suffer  so  ? 

Was  ever  criminal  beheld 
With  such  a  look  benign  ? 

Did  e'er  such  majesty  and  love 
In  human  face  combine  ? 

Why  was  it  that  at  mid-day  hour 
The  sun  was  lost  to  sight, 

As  though  a  curtain  there  was  drawn 
To  hide  his  glorious  light  ? 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  69 

Why  quaked  fhe  solid  earth  as  though 

Some  fear  did  it  assail  ? 
What  unseen  hand  was  that  which  came 

And  rent  the  temple  veil  ? 

Come,  fellow-sinner,  to  the  spot, 

Thou  shalt  the  secret  learn, 
Oh,  lend  thou  an  attentive  ear  ; 

It  doth  thee  much  concern. 

'Twas  the  Sin-bearer  who  was  hung 

On  that  accursed  tree. 
The  blood  that  flowed  from  hands  and  side 

Was  poured  for  thee  and  me. 

A  storm  did  sweep  o'er  Calv'ry's  Hill  : 

A  fire  was  kindled  there, 
Which  burned  all  hot  and  fiercely  in 

The  tree  so  green  and  fair. 

And  there  the  storm  its  fury  spent  ; 

The  fire  was  quenched  in  blood 
All  scattered  were  the  clouds  of  wrath 

That  hid  the  face  of  God. 

The  way  into  the  Holiest 

Is  opened  now  for  all ; 
Who  will  accept  the  Saviour's  grace, 

And  at  his  foot  stool  fall  ? 
Orkney,  January,  1880. 


SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 


LORD'S-DAY   MORNING. 

Hail  thy  blessed  dawning, 
Day  of  sacred  mirth, 

Resurrection-morning ! 

Let  my  soul  now  scorning 
Meaner  things  of  earth, 

Bid  them  stay  behind  me 
While  I  mount  up  there, 

Holy  places  entering, 

Thoughts  on  Jesus  centering, 
Who  my  sins  did  bear. 

Keep  me  in  Thy  presence 
All  the  long  day  through. 

On  Thy  beauty  gazing 

Let  me  be  upraising 
Notes  of  worship  true. 


Orkney,  September,  1881. 


OF  MY  PIL  GRIM  A  GE.  7  I 

LINES  WRITTEN  FOR  A  LADY  WHO  HAD 
BEEN  LONG  IN  THE  FURNACE  OF 
PAIN. 

"I  see  four  men  loose  walking  in  the    midst  of  the  fire."  — 
Daniel  iii.  25. 

'Twas  the  strangest  pathway 

Ere  by  mortal  trod. 
Where  those  three  were  walking 
All  unscathed  and  talking 

With  the  Son  of  God. 

Yet  they  stepped  as  safely 

As  they  shall  one  day, 
In  yon  city  olden 
Walk  the  streets  all  golden, 

Where  the  blessed  stay. 

Roaring  of  the  furnace 

Quenched  all  other  sound. 
Music  loudly  swelling 
Royal  order  telling, 

In  the  noise  was  drowned. 

But  that  voice  beside  them, 

They  could  always  hear, 
And  its  deep  tones  thrilling 
All  their  souls  were  stilling, 

Calming  every  fear. 


72  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

All  untouched  their  garments, 
But  the  cords  that  bound  — 
These  the  flames  did  sever, 
They  were  gone  for  ever  : 
Could  nowhere  be  found. 

Has  the  Master  called  thee 
Thus  with  Him  to  go 

Through  a  furnace  blazing  ? 

There  His  love  amazing 
Thou  shalt  surely  know. 

Thine  no  common  trial, 

Ordeal  of  pain  ; 
But  He  walks  beside  thee, 
And  what'er'  betide  thee 

He  shall  still  sustain. 

All  the  ties  that  bound  thee 

To  the  things  of  time, 
One  by  one  He's  burning, 
And  thy  spirit  turning 
To  things  more  sublime. 

From  the  fire  emerging 

On  the  glory  side  ; 
After  the  refining 
Thou  shalt  soon  be  shining 
Like  gold  purified. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  73 

A     PRAYER     FOR    A    YOUNG     SISTER    IN 
SICKNESS. 

Lord,  be  with  my  gentle  sister 

Mid  the  weariness  and  pain  ! 
May  Thy  tender  love  enfold  her, 
And  Thy  mighty  arm  uphold  her ; 

Then  her  suffering  shall  be  gain ! 

Through  the  lonely,  dark  night  watches, 
When  no  earthly  friend  is  near, 

Give  her  holy  meditation, 

Whisper  words  of  consolation, 
By  Thy  Spirit  in  her  ear ! 

Tell  her  of  the  Man  Of  Sorrows, 
Who  affliction's  pathway  trod  ! 
Tell  her  of  His  bitter  anguish, 
When  He  on  the  cross  did  languish, 
To  redeem  her  soul  to  God. 

Let  her  trace  Him  to  the  glory, 
Where  he  sits  at  God's  right  hand  ! 

Tell  her  how  her  name  He's  wearing, 

And  for  her  a  place  preparing 
In  the  fair  and  blessed  Land ! 

Tell  her  also  of  His  Coming 

To  receive  his  loved  ones  home  ; 
Of  the  untold  joy  of  greeting 
All  the  saints  at  that  glad  meeting ; 
Gathered  there  no  more  to  roam  ! 


74  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Tell  her  of  the  spotless  garments, 
And  the  crown  of  victory  bright, 
Of  the  joy,  all  joys  excelling  — 
With  Him  to  be  ever  dwelling, 
He  Himself  her  Life  and  Light. 

Give  her  perfect  resignation, 

To  abide  His  coming  here  ; 
Or  to  step  within  the  Portal, 
Where  her  spirit  saved,  immortal 
Shall  remain  till  He  appear ! 

Lord,  we  thank  thee,  Thou  hast  told  us 
There's  no  death  for  such  as  she  ! 

Jesus  died  and  now  He  liveth 

And  eternal  life  He  giveth. 
Blessed  gift,  so  rich  and  free  ! 

There  may  be  a  short  unclothing, 

And  the  body,  like  a  dress 
Folded  for  a  little  season, 
And  by  Thee,  for  some  wise  reason, 
Laid  aside  ;  but  none  the  less, 

Thou  shalt  watch  it  as  a  treasure 

Keeping  for  the  Bridal-morn, 
When  to  glorious  life  awaking, 
It  shall  from  the  casket  breaking 

Brightly  shine  at  Christ's  return. 
Somerville,  October  4th,  1884. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  75 

FOR  A  SERVANT  OF  GOD  LEAVING  FOR 
A  DISTANT  LAND. 

Gracious,  Everlasting  Father, 
In  the  Saviour's  name  we  pray ; 

Hear  our  supplications  fervent, 

For  Thy  dear  beloved  servant 
Going  from  this  land  away  ! 

Tears  in  many  eyes  will  gather, 
Many  hands  will  wave  good-bye. 

Hearts  with  strong  affection  burning, 

His  departure  deeply  mourning, 
Will  unite  to  swell  this  cry. 

Whatso'er  of  joy  or  sorrow 

Future  days  may  have  in  store, 
May  Thy  watchful  care  unsleeping 
Him  in  all  his  way  be  keeping, 

Till  he  reach  the  brighter  shore  ! 

Health  and  strength  and  every  blessing 

All  his  need  do  Thou  supply; 
Let  him  to  Thy  praise  be  shining, 
Grace  and  faithfulness  combining, 

Serving  Thee  with  single  eye  ! 

Bless  Thou,  Lord,  his  little  children 
And  the  partner  of  his  love  ! 


76  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

May  Thy  presence  bending  o'er  them 

Calm  the  troubled  waves  before  them  ! 

All  Thy  goodness  let  them  prove  ! 

Though  his  much-loved  form  we  never 

May  again  on  earth  behold ; 
We  shall,  'mid  the  scenes  of  glory, 
When  is  past  life  's  checkered  story, 
Meet  him  on  the  streets  of  gold. 

Voice  that  oft  has  thrilled  our  spirits, 

We  may  never  hear  again, 
'  Till  we,  mid  the  swelling  chorus, 
In  the  blessed  land  before  us, 
Hear  it  in  sublimer  strains. 

Lord,  we  thank  Thee  for  the  prospect 

Of  the  day  we  long  to  hail, 
When  the  countless  congregation 
From  each  scattered  tribe  and  nation, 
Gather  shall  within  the  veil ! 

All  the  dreary  partings  over, 

Nothing  then  but  love  and  joy ; 
Cup  of  gladness  overflowing, 
Love  in  every  bosom  glowing, 
Ardent,  pure,  without  alloy. 

Orkney,  August,  1882. 


OF \MY  PILGRIMAGE.  77 


FOR    TWO    SERVANTS    OF   GOD    LEAVING 
FOR  A  NEW   FIELD. 

O  Thou  who  hast  revealed  Thyself 

As  the  answerer  of  prayer, 
Be  Thine  ear  to  us  attending 
While  Thy  servants  we're  commending 

To  Thy  ever  watchful  care  ! 

We  would  thank  Thee,  Lord  that  ever 
Thou  did'st  guide  their  footsteps  here  : 

For  the  power  Thou  hast  given 

By  the  Holy  Ghost  from  Heaven 
To  proclaim  Thy  message  clear ! 

For  the  souls  who  have  believed 

Through  Thy  word  by  them  declared  : 

Lessons  of  sweet  consolation 

And  soul-stirring  exhortation 

We  Thy  children  too  have  shared. 

For  our  holy  sweet  communion, 

Foretaste  of  the  joys  to  come, 
When  our  parting  days, are  ended, 
And  we  all  shall  have  ascended 

To  our  Father's  happy  home. 

Precious  is  the  glad  assurance 

That  Thou  forth  with  them  wilt  go  : 


78  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Yet  with  us  be  still  remaining, 
Them  and  us  alike  sustaining, 
While  we  sojourn  here  below. 

Though  with  sad,  regretful  yearning 

We  must  speak  the  word  good-bye  ; 
They  are  still  our  own  possession, 
Bound  by  sacred,  close  relation 
t     To  our  Living  Head  on  high. 

SPaul,  Apollos,  Cephas,  all  things 

Thou  hast  given  us  in  Him. 
Distance  cannot  really  sunder 
For  our  union  is  up  yonder, 
Far  above  those  shadows  dim. 

Now  we  plead  Thy  blessed  promise  — 

Be  Thou  with  them  to  the  end ; 
Every  good  to  them  supplying, 
Keep  them  on  Thyself  relying, 
Guide  and  comfort  and  defend ! 

Strengthen  them  in  soul  and  body 

For  the  work  that  lies  before  ! 
In  Thy  secret  presence  dwelling, 
Be  their  cup  of  gladness  swelling, 
Running  over  more  and  more  ! 

Many  souls  to  them  be  given  ! 

For  this  purpose  make  them  wise  ! 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  79 

May  their  crowns  be  bright  and  burning 
On  the  day  of  Thy  returning 

When  they  meet  Thee  in  the  skies  ! 

Oh,  'twill  be  a  blessed  meeting 

At  the  Harvest-home  so  sweet ! 
We  shall  in  their  joy  be  sharing 
When  their  sheaves  we  see  them  bearing, 

Laying  them  before  Thy  feet. 


FOR  A  SISTER,  ON  HEARING  OF  HER 
SAFE  ARRIVAL  IN  A  DISTANT  LAND, 
WHERE  SHE  HAD  GONE  ON  A  VISIT. 

My  God,  this  night  I  thank  Thee, 

For  tidings  brought  to  me, 
That  Thou  hast  led  my  sister 

Across  the  stormy  sea. 

Though  wild  winds  swept  the  ocean, 

Thy  loving  mighty  hand 
Did  guide  that  ship  in  safety 

Unto  the  far-off  land. 

And  now  for  my  dear  sister 

I  ask  the  needed  grace 
To  be  a  faithful  witness 

For  thee  in  every  place. 


80  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

To  live  and  speak  for  Jesus 
Wherever  Thou  dost  lead  ; 

To  manifest  His  praises 
In  every  word  and  deed. 

And  bring  them  back  in  safety  — 
The  mother  and  the  child  ; 

Be  Thou  again  their  Pilot 
Across  the  ocean  wild. 

That,  with  a  heart  all  grateful 
For  Thine  abundant  grace, 

The  husband  and  the  father 
His  loved  ones  may  embrace. 

Then  keep  them,  Lord,  and  guide  them, 

Until  life's  journey  o'er 
They  meet  in  perfect  gladness 

Upon  the  heavenly  shore. 

Where  no  dividing  ocean 

Shall  ever  roll  between  ; 
»But  Christ  shall  gently  lead  them 
Among  the  pastures  green. 

Somerville,  Nov.  18,  1884. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMA  GE.  8 1 

FOR    A    SISTER    ON    THE    OCCASION    OF 
HER   MARRIAGE. 

Standing  just  upon  the  threshold 

Of  a  life  untried  and  new, 
Sister,  may  the  good  Lord  guide  thee, 
And  whatever  lot  betide  thee, 

May  thy  heart  to  Him  be  true. 

Star  of  earthly  love  now  rising 

O'er  thy  pathway  clear  and  sweet, 
May  it  help  to  draw  thee  nearer 
To  the  One  who  loves  thee  dearer  : 
Help  to  keep  thee  at  His  feet. 

May  His  blessing  rest  upon  thee, 

And  the  partner  of  thy  choice, 
Be  His  love  your  richest  treasure, 
And  your  sweetest,  dearest  pleasure 

Still  to  hear  the  Shepherd's  voice. 

May  ye  follow  in  His  footsteps, 

Honor  Him  in  all  your  ways  ; 
Be  your  highest  aim  His  glory, 
So  that  all  your  life-long  story 

May  be  written  to  His  praise . 

When  your  pilgrimage  is  ended, 

And  ye  reach  the  land  above, 
May  ye  then  in  sweet  communion 
Thank  Him  for  this  earthly  union 

He  has  given  in  His  love. 


82  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 


FOR    ANOTHER     SISTER    ON    HER    MAR- 
RIAGE. 

God  bless  thee,  darling  Lizzie  ! 

I'm  sure  thou  wilt  not  blame, 
That  still  an  old  friend  calls  thee 

The  dear,  familiar  name  ! 

It  needs  no  words  to  tell  thee 
How  much  I  wish  thee  joy  ; 

If  I  might  choose  thy  portion, 
'Twould  be  without  alloy. 

But  one  whose  love  transcendeth 

My  feeble  love  as  far, 
As  brightest  blaze  of  noonday, 

Excels  the  glimm'ring  star, 

Holds  in  His  pierced  hand  a  cup 

Of  mingled  joy  and  woe, 
He  gives  to  all  His  children 

To  drink  while  here  below. 

And  He  will  deal  it  wisely, 

As  best  befitteth  thee, 
Then  give  thee  perfect  gladness 

From  every  mixture  free. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  83 

So  I  commend  thee  to  Him, 

In  perfect  trust  this  day, 
I  know  that  He  will  guide  thee 

And  bless  thee  all  the  way. 

Flame-wall  around  thy  dwelling, 

Its  inner  glory  too, 
His  living  presence  always 

Shall  bear  thee  safely  through  : 

Till  thou  and  thy  dear  partner 

Exchange  your  home  below, 
For  yonder  many  mansions, 

Where  joy  and  gladness  flow. 

In  perfect,  perfect  measure, 

Unmixed  with  woe  or  sin, 
I  shall  rejoice  to  meet  you 

When  the  fair  goal  I  win. 

Together  we  shall  worship 

Through  everlasting  days, 
Nought  left  us  then  to  wish  for, 

Each  longing  turned  to  praise. 


84  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 


TO  A  SISTER  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY. 

Hail,  beloved  friend  and  sister ! 

Now  for  thee  I  humbly  pray, 
That  the  Lord  may  keep  and  guide  thee, 
And  with  every  good  provide  thee 

All  along  thy  future  way. 

Earthly  gifts  I  cannot  offer, 

Gold  and  silver  have  I  none  ; 
But  from  out  a  full  heart  glowing 
Prayers  and  blessings  richly  flowing 

I  can  offer,  these  alone. 

Hitherto  the  Lord  hath  led  thee, 

Called  thee  by  His  mighty  grace. 
May  thou  on  His  arm  be  leaning, 
Daily  strength  and  comfort  gleaning, 
Till  at  last  thou  see  His  face  ! 

Thou  and  thy  beloved  partner, 

And  the  child  whom  God  has  given. 
May  His  presence  watching  o'er  you 
Make  the  pathway  bright  before  you 
Till  ye  reach  that  Home  in  Heaven  ; 

Where  they  never  sin  nor  suffer, 
Where  they  shed  no  parting  tears, 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  85 

Never  feel  one  pang  of  sorrow, 
Never  dread  the  coming  morrow, 
Never  count  the  days  or  years. 

There  we'll  dwell  in  sweet  communion 

With  each  other  and  with  Him 
Who  by  His  own  blood  hath  healed  us, 
Sought  and  found  and  kept  and  sealed  us 

For  the  joys  that  ne'er  grow  dim. 
Somerville,  December  25th,  1883. 


BIRTHDAY   WISHES  FOR   A   BROTHER  IN 
THE  LORD. 

Not  for  thee,  Beloved  Brother 
Would  I  covet  wealth  or  ease ; 

Nor  the  trifles  men  call  pleasures; 
But  far  better  things  than  these. 

May  the  eye  that  never  slumbers 
Watch  o'er  thee  by  night  and  day  ! 

May  the  ear  that  grows  not  heavy 
Listen  still  when  thou  dost  pray ! 

May  the  arm  that  grows  not  weary 

Still  protect  thee  and  sustain  ! 
May  the  heart  that  never  changes 

Share  thy  every  throb  of  pain  ! 


86  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

May  thy  faith  be  firm,  unfaltering, 
Shrinking  not  the  cross  to  bear, 

Counting  all  things  loss  for  Jesus, 
And  the  glory  "  over  there." 

May  thy  hope  be  calm  and  steadfast, 
Ever  fixed  on  things  divine ; 

Till  thou  reach  the  glad  possession, 
And  in  Jesus'  likeness  shine ! 

May  thy  love  be  pure  and  ardent, 
Burning  with  a  quenchless  flame, 

Ready  still  to  do  or  suffer 

For  the  blessed  Master's  name  ! 

Now  my  final  wish  I'm  writing, 
Highest,  fondest  wish  of  all ; 

Tis  that  thou  and  I,  Dear  Brother, 
Soon  may  hear  the  glad  home-call. 

That  full  soon,  with  all  the  Ransomed 
We  may  rise  to  meet  our  Lord. 

Never  more  to  sin  or  sorrow, 
Never  speak  one  parting  word  ! 

Oh,  how  sweet,  in  yon  fair  city 
Whereunto  our  footsteps  tend 

Evermore  to  dwell  together 

And  in  praise  our  voices  blend  ! 

Somerville,  Feb.  i,  1884. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE  87 


FOR  A  BROTHER  ON   HIS   BIRTHDAY. 

This  day,  my  Brother,  I  do  thank  the  Lord 

That  still  along  the  way 
His  loving  hand  hath  kept  and  guarded  thee 

To  see  a  new  birthday. 

That  fewer  trials  lie  before  thee  now 

Than  ever  in  the  past, 
And  nearer  draws  the  Day  for  which  we  long, 

(It  cometh  sure  and  fast ;) 

And  while  I  praise  His  Holy  Name  to-day 

For  grace  on  thee  bestowed, 
And  for  the  happy  fellowship  that  oft 

Has  cheered  my  pilgrim-road, 

I  pray  that  thine  may  be  the  shining  path 

That  always  brighter  grows, 
As  this  short  life  with  all  its  changing  scenes 

Draws  nearer  to  a  close. 

That  he  may  perfect  His  good  work  in  thee, 

And  make  thee  even  here 
So  bright  in  holiness  that  all  may  see 

His  image  in  thee  clear. 

Soon  shall  we  cease  to  reckon  days  and  years, 
For  time  itself  shall  cease  ; 


88  SOWGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

And  we  shall  launch  upon  a  boundless  tide 
O    love  and  joy  and  peace. 

And  wh  <  i  we  gather  in  the  Father's  Home, 

VJaat  pleasure  will  be  mine 
To  see  the  brother  whom  I  loved  on  earth 

Amid  that  bright  throng  shine  ! 

Yea,  though  the  Lord  shall  be  our  chiefest  joy 

Through  all  Eternity  ; 
We  shall  rejoice  to  clasp  each  other's  hand, 

Each  other's  face  to  see. 

And  sweet  shall  be  our  long  communion  there, 
When  faith  is  changed  to  sight ; 

For  we  shall  never  speak  the  word  farewell, 
Nor  good-by,  nor  good-night. 

Somerville,  Feb.  i,  1885. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  89 


MEMORIALS  OF  DEPARTED  ONES. 


DAVID     M.     FLAWS, 
My  sister's  little  baby,  one  month  old. 

Darling  Babe,  thou  soon  grew  weary 
Of  this  world  of  pain  and  woe  ! 

Thine  was  but  a  passing  visit ; 
Yet  its  sufFring  thou  didst  know. 

As  we  stood  in  sorrow  gazing, 

On  thy  pale  and  lifeless  clay, 
Sprang  there  up  amid  our  sadness 

Thoughts  of  that  approaching  Day. 

When  the  Blessed  Lord  from  Heaven 

Shall  appear  in  glory  fair, 
And  the  sleeping  saints  arising 

Gather  home,  His  joy  to  share. 

Mid  that  blood-washed  throng  all  shining, 
Thou,  Dear  Babe,  wilt  have  a  place. 

Christ  hath  made  the  little  children 
Sharers  in  His  love  and  grace. 


90  SOWGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Even  now  thy  soul  is  with  Him, 
Waiting  till  He  come  again. 

And  thy  dust  in  peace  reposing 
Resteth  now  from  all  the  pain. 

Though  our  sin-beclouded  vision 
Could  not  scan  the  reason  why 

Thou  wast  only  sent  to  languish 
These  short  weeks,  and  then  to  die: 

He,  our  loving  God  and  Father, 
Gave  thee  that  brief  pain  to  bear 

That  thou  mightest  know  the  gladness 
And  the  sweet  rest  over  there. 

When  he  comes,  the  weeping  parents 
Shall  again  their  child  embrace, 

And  there  shall  be  no  more  parting 
In  the  heavenly  dwelling-place. 

Teach  us  now,  O  Gracious  Father, 
Just  to  say  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

Thou  didst  give  and  Thou  hast  taken  ! 
Glory  be  to  Thee  alone  ! 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  91 

JAMES  SANDISON, 
An  aged  saint,  poor  in  this  world,  but  rich  in  Faith. 

From  yonder  lowly  cottage 

A  son  of  God  hath  gone. 
Gone  to  a  nobler  mansion 

Than  any  'neath  the  sun  ! 

Gone  from  deepest  poverty 

To  riches  all  untold  ; 
To  dwell  within  a  city 

Whose  streets  are  paved  with  gold. 

The  body  old  and  feeble 

That  slumbers  in  the  ground, 
Shall  wake  to  youth  immortal 

At  the  glad  trumpet's  sound. 

He  passed  through  sore  bereavements, 

Deep  grief  his  heart  hath  riven. 
Sweet  to  the  weary  pilgrim 

Will  be  the  rest  of  Heaven. 

And  she  who  was  his  partner 

In  trials  of  the  way, 
Is  waiting  on  before  him, 

Where  they  shall  dwell  for  aye. 


92  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

They  breasted  many  a  billow 

Of  tribulation  here  : 
But  bowed  in  meek  submission 

To  him  their  hearts  held  dear. 

As  they  magnified  His  Name 
He'll  surely  honor  them. 

Theirs  will  be  a  shining  robe 
And  starry  diadem. 


GEORGE   POTTINGER 
Fell  asleep  in  Jesus  at  the  early  age  of  seventeen. 

Dear  young  saint,  how  sweetly  he  did  sing 
Of  the  time  when  he  should  behold  the  King ! 
And  now  it  is  his — that  blessed  sight ; 
He  dwells  at  home  in  His  presence  bright. 

He  trusted  Christ  in  his  young  life's  bloom, 
So  Death  was  robbed  of  his  dismal  gloom. 
Smiling,  he  plunged  in  the  Jordan  Tide, 
For  the  light  shone  clear  from  the  other  side. 

He  will  not  regret  his  early  call ; 
No  tear  from  his  eye  will  ever  fall. 
Taken  away  from  evil  to  come, 
He  is  safe  and  blest  in  his  happy  home. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  93 

His  friends  will  miss  him  the  "  little  while," 
Long  for  his  voice  and  his  cheerful  smile  ; 
But  One  Hope  gladdens  amidst  their  pain, — 
They  know  that  Christ  is  coming  again. 

And  so  we  bid  him  a  short  farewell 
Till  that  glad  morning,  and  who  can  tell 
How  soon  we  may  see  our  precious  Lord ! 
"  Behold  I  come  "  was  His  parting  word. 


DONALD   ALLAN. 
Aged  fifty-five  years  ;  suddenly  called  to  his  rest,  April  8,  1877. 

A  beloved  friend  and  brother 

Has  left  this  earthly  scene, 
And  hallowed  mem'ries  cluster  round 

The  place  where  he  has  been. 

We  think  of  all  his  kindly  ways, 

His  words  and  deeds  of  love  ; 
And  then  in  thought  we  follow  him 

To  yon  bright  home  above. 

Many  a  dusty  mile  on  earth 

He  trod  with  weary  feet : 
But  he  shall  walk  with  tireless  step 

Along  the  golden  street. 


94  SOWGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Suddenly  called  from  earthly  toil 
To  enter  heavenly  rest ; 

No  care,  no  toil  he'll  ever  know 
In  mansions  of  the  blest. 


The  saints  on  earth  will  miss  him  sore, 
With  whom  he  used  to  meet, 

Around  the  Master's  sacred  board 
To  hold  communion  sweet. 

We'll  miss  his  dear,  familiar  form, 
His  counsels  and  his  prayers ; 

But,  oh,  how  sweet  to  know  he's  blest, 
And  heavenly  joy  now  shares. 

Yet,  our  hearts  bleed  for  the  widow 

In  her  desolated  home, 
Where  his  dear  voice  no  more  is  heard 

And  his  footstep  will  not  come. 

Heavy,  indeed,  has  been  her  loss, 
And  deep  must  be  her  grief. 

We  know  the  Blessed  Lord  alone 
Can  give  her  heart  relief. 

Still,  to  our  beloved  sister, 

We'd  speak  some  words  of  cheer, 

Sweet  thoughts  of  consolation 
We'd  whisper  in  her  ear. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  95 

A  little  while,  and  he  who  comes 

Shall  come  and  tarry  not. 
Sorrow  and  sighing  then  shall  flee, 

Her  grief  shall  be  forgot. 

And  even  for  the  few  short  years 

That  she  may  journey  here  ; 
The  Lord  Himself  shall  be  her  guide  : 

He  shall  support  and  cheer. 

The  tender  sympathy  of  Him 

Who  is  the  widow's  Friend 
Shall  be  her  solace  all  the  way, 

And  crown  her  journey's  end. 


JANE   SUTHERLAND. 

Aged  twenty-seven  years.    Passed  into  rest  through  an  ordeal 
of  pain. 

Done  with  this  scene  of  sorrow, 

Of  weariness  and  pain  ; 
Hers  is  a  long,  bright  morrow 

And  death  is  endless  gain. 

Past  all  the  bitter  anguish 
That  much  her  faith  did  try, 

She'll  weep  no  more  nor  languish 
In  that  sweet  home  on  high. 


96  SONGS  IN  THE  HOUSE 

Dark  frowned  the  vale  before  her ; 

Yet  she  had  perfect  peace. 
She  knew  the  Lord  watched  o'er  her, 

His  love  would  never  cease. 

She's  gone  within  the  Portal ; 

We're  waiting  still  outside  ; 
She  tastes  the  joys  immortal, 

The  veil  from  us  doth  hide. 

Soon  shall  that  veil  be  riven, 
The  glory  breaking  through ; 

And  He  who  is  our  Heaven 
Shall  burst  upon  our  view. 

Amid  the  joyful  singing 

On  that  triumphal  day 
We'll  hear  her  glad  voice  ringing, 

And  greet  her  on  the  way. 

And  then  the  hidden  reason 
More  fully  we  shall  know, 

Why  for  a  little  season 
She  suffered  here  below. 

Then  as  we  read  the  story, 
The  Saviour's  praise  we'll  tell, 

And  shout  amid  the  glory 
"  He  doeth  all  things  well." 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  ()J 

MISS   AXXA    KEG  AN 

Fell  asleep  in  Jesus,  Dec.  2,  1883. 

I  knew  her  but  a  month  or  two, 

A  passing  glimpse,  no  more, 
Yet  I  had  learned  to  love  her  for 

The  image  that  she  bore 

Of  Him,  the  Blessed  One,  whose  love 

Unites  His  children  dear 
In  one  sweet  bond  of  fellowship, 

Most  tender,  strong  and  near. 

Only  a  few  short  weeks  have  tied, 

A  very  little  while, 
Since  last  I  held  her  friendly  hand 

And  caught  her  parting  smile. 

Ah,  little  thought  I  then  that  through 

The  dark,  mysterious  vale 
So  soon  her  ransomed  soul  would  pass 

To  joys  that  never  fail. 

But  God  hath  willed  it  so  and  hers 

The  long,  eternal  gain  : 
While  unto  those  who  loved  her  here 

It  bringeth  loss  and  pain. 


98  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 

She  rests  in  peace  with  Him,  while  we 
With  soiled  and  bleeding  feet 

Still  tread  the  sandy  desert  road, 
Faint  'neath  the  scorching  heat  : 

Yet,  even  now  a  solemn  joy* 
Thrills  through  my  being's  core 

To  think  how  soon  we'll  meet  again 
And  part,  ah,  nevermore  ! 

That  body  sown  in  weakness  now, 

Robed  in  immortal  power 
Shall  rise  again  and  much  we  long 

For  the  triumphal  hour, 

When  the  Archangel's  Trump  shall  wake 
The  sleeping  saints  and  we 

All  clothed  upon  shall  rise  again, 
The  Saviour's  face  to  see. 

Then  in  the  Father's  house  above 

The  family  shall  meet ; 
No  missing  link,  no  broken  tie, 

The  circle  all  complete. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  99 


KATP:  RUSSELL 

AY  as  led  to  accept  Christ  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  and  departed 
to  l)e  with  Him,  little  more  than  a  year  from  the  time  of 
her  conversion. 

Have  I  read  the  news  aright  ? 
Art  thou  gone  from  mortal  sight  ? 
Hast  thou  entered  through  the  Door, 
Entered  to  go  out  no  more  ? 

Short  and  swift  has  been  thy  race  ; 
Early  gained  the  resting-place  ; 
Scarcely  had  the  fight  begun, 
Till  the  crown  of  life  was  won. 

Ah,  thy  parents  weep  for  thee, 
Rosebud  from  their  family  tree 
Gathered  by  Death's  ruthless  hand, 
In  yon  fair  and  happy  Land 
Richer  bloom  shalt  thou  attain, 
So  their  loss  to  thee  is  gain. 

Christ,  in  whom  thou  did'st  confide, 
Gently  wooed  thee  to  His  side. 
There  thou  ever  shalt  remain, 
Sheltered  from  each  woe  and  pain ; 
Farewell,  Dear  One,  till  we  meet 
In  that  Home  so  calm  and  sweet. 

Somerville,  Jan.  12,  1884. 


ICO  SONGS  IN   THE  HOUSE 


IDA    E.    NELSON. 

A   dear  young  sister  who  departed  to  be  with  Christ,  Dec.  22 
1884. 

O  grim,  resistless  Death,  hast  thou  been  here 
Amid  the  stillness  of  the  morning  hours, 

With  noiseless  tread,  and  cold,  unpitying  grasp, 
To  steal  from  Earth  one  of  her  sweetest  flowers  ? 

Could'st  thou  not  be  content  with  millions  more. 
Already  gathered  in  thy  wide  embrace  ? 

Couldst  thou  not  leave  this  fair  and  precious  one 
To  bloom  a  little  longer  in  her  place  ? 

Hadst  thou  no  pity  for  the  parents'  grief, 

Sisters    and  brothers   whose   young   hearts    must 
bleed? 

Compassion  dwells  not  in  thy  stony  breast ; 
To  human  sorrow  thou  dost  pay  no  heed. 

But  short  thy  triumph,  O  thou  dreaded  one, 
For  we  can  tell  thee,  smiling  through  our  tears 

She  is  not  thine,  although  her  dust  may  lie 
In  thy  cold  keeping  for  a  few  short  years. 

She  is  the  property  of  One  who  paid 
For  her  a  costly  price  long  years  ago, 

Even  now  her  spirit  finds  repose  with  Him, 
Beyond  thy  reach,  beyond  all  sin  and  woe. 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE.  IOI 

A  little  while  and  He  shall  come  in  power, 
To  claim  the  precious  body  He  hath  bought ; 

Clothed  in  His  image  she  shall  then  arise 
In  glory  far  surpassing  human  thought. 

A  conqueror's  crown  shall  sparkle  on  her  brow, 
A  blood-washed  robe  all  spotless  she  shall  wear. 

Pass  through  the  Gates  into  yon  City  bright, 
And  thou,  O  Death,  can'st  never  enter  there. 

We'd  humbly  seek,  as  He  our  Lord  has  bid 
To  comfort  thus  the  dear  ones  left  behind 

With  thoughts  of  His  appearing,  and  we  pray 
That  they  indeed  may  consolation  find. 

i 
He  will  not  chide  their  tears,  for  He  did  weep 

In  hallowed  sympathy  in  days  of  old, 
But  He  will  speak  of  resurrection-joy, 

When  they  their  darling  shall  again  behold. 


OX      Till:      TWELFTH      ANNIVERSARY      OF     MY 
MOTHER'S    DEATH. 

Ah  me  !  Indeed  'tis  just  twelve  years  to-night, 

Since  to  her  long,  long  rest 
Went  the  best  friend  I  ever,  ever  knew, 
Save  Jesus  Christ,  the  Faithful  and  the  True. 

My  soul's  most  worthy  guest. 


102  SOWGS  IN    THE    HOUSE 

It  was  my  mother,  who  that  solemn  night 

Passed  from  this  vale  of  tears, 
To  be  with  Him,  and  that  mysterious  power, 
Which  links  the  far  past  with  the  present  hour, 

Leads  me  across  the  years, 

Back  to  that  time  so  very  long  ago, 

When  all  of  joy  and  hope 

Seemed  fading  from  me,  as  the  death-hue  stole 
O'er  the  dear  face,  and  in  my  inmost  soul 

I  felt  that  I  must  grope 

My  future  way  uncounselled  and  uncheered 

By  her  kind,  watchful  love. 
That  I  should  hear  her  gentle  voice  no  more, 
Nor  see  her  face,  till  this  sad  life  was  o'er, 

And  we  should  meet  above. 

Of  that  much  dreaded  future  twelve  long  years 

Have  now  become  the  past. 
Still,  year  by  year  my  God  hath  led  me  through 
With  loving  kindness,  mercies  ever  new, 

And  soon  will  come  the  last. 

Through  dreary  times,  and  seasons  of  delight : 

O'er  toilsome,  thorny  ways  : 

In  pleasant  paths  bestrewn  with  summer  flowers  ; 
'Mid  glowing  sunshine,  and  bleak,  wintry  shower 

He's  led  me  all  the  days, 


OF  MY  PILGRIMAGE. 


I03 


With  more  than  mother's  love,  and  sure  I  am 

He  will  not  me  forsake 

Whatever  may  betide  through  what  remains 
Of  life's  short  night  with  all  its  woes  and  pains, 

Till  the  glad  morning  break. 

In  a  lone  churchyard  by  the  moaning  sea 

My  mother's  ashes  lie, 

The  waves  beside  her  make  a  ceaseless  moan  ; 
Wild  sea-birds  scream,  and  oft  with  mournful  tone 

The  winds  go  sweeping  by  : 

And  feet  of  strangers  careless  press  the  grave 

That  I  no  more  shall  see. 
;Tis  well,  the  grave  is  not  our  meeting-place. 
A  better  hope  is  mine,  and  soon  by  grace, 

With  her  at  home  I'll  be. 

Of  other  friends  whom  God  since  then  has  given, 

Some  sleep  in  dust  like  her  ; 
'Twixt  me  and  some  lies  many  an  ocean-mile  ; 
Some  walk  beside  me  for  a  little  while ; 

But  all  from  near  and  far 

Shall  gather  quickly,  when  the  Master  comes. 

At  sound  of  His  Home-Call 

In  one  blessed  moment  all  from  Earth  shall  spring 
To  His  loved  presence,  and  on  joyful  wing 

Pass  to  the  Bridal-Hall. 


104  SOATGS  7AT    THE   HOUSE,  ETC. 

I  shall  behold  my  mother  on  that  day, 

And  many  dear  ones  more 

Who  throng  me  now  in  Memory's  spacious  dome. 
All,  all  shall  meet  within  that  blessed  home, 

And  parting  shall  be  o'er. 

Somerville,  Jan.  22,  1885. 


JOHN    WATSON 

\Va.s  drowned  in  the  act  of  saving  a  comrade's  life.  On  his  body 
being  recovered  a  New  Testament  was  found  in  his  pocket 
with  the  leaf  turned  down  at  John  xv.  13. 

Hold  we  still  in  hallowed  memory 
Him,  the  loving  and  the  brave, 

Who  away  in  foreign  waters 
Died  a  comrade's  life  to  save. 

Emblem  of  the  Great  Redeemer, 
Over  whom  the  waves  did  roll  - 

Waves  of  wrath  and  bitter  anguish, 
All  to  save  the  guilty  soul. 

Greater  love  could  no  man  render 
Than  to  die  for  those  he  lovec  ; 

'Twas  a  high  and  sacred  honor 
And  his  strong  affection  proved. 


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